


An Alien Connection

by GhostHost



Series: Crashed [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Breeding, Captivity, Hurt/Comfort, Mer!Rung, Merformers, Mild Gore, More in fic, Oviposition, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery, Xenophilia, human!Whirl, mpreg but not because its fake? Is fake pregnancy a tag?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-02 17:23:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16309481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: The Lost Light Wildlife and Rehabilitation Center was a one of the four facilities “refurbished and saved” by the newly renamed Cybertron Company. It was the only one that did not allow any outside guests at all, as it housed “dangerous, violent, and lost cause” mers.It also houses human criminals, as part of a prison rehabilitation program.Whirl is one such criminal, and Rung is one, badly damaged mer. After a massive cock-up, both are now firmly attached to each other. They just don't know if they'll be allowed to stay that way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my other, unpublished magnum opus mer fic! The one I keep throwing at people to read even though I stopped writing halfway through the thing like a year ago and like all my WIPS, am trying to force myself to finish.
> 
> Endings are hard guys : ( 
> 
> (Sidenote I'm actually only putting this out because I was sorely tempted to pull a 50 Shades, drunk edit it into an OG story and enter it into a contest, so this is me preventing myself from being mildy shitty.) 
> 
> Warnings: Much like Storm Rolling In this one has a plethora of warnings! Mentions of rape, torture, slavery (unwilling/forced) BDSM, fights to the death, PTSD, scars, kidnapping, invasive medical procedures, complete lack of consent, blood, gore, child slavery/kidnapping, body horror, fake pregnancy, eggs/pregnancy/egg laying, oviposition, significant mental/emotional trauma, Xeno (?? - I lean more towards Xeno with the human/mer fish thing, over anything else) annnd I honestly will have to go back and read everything lol. It's got a very similiar tone to Storm Rolling In.

An Alien Connection 

* * *

 

Whirl was problematic. 

This was something he took a great deal of pride in being. He’d had a hard life. A life most of those around him now didn’t know the exact details of-only that it included forced service to either the military or the mob.

Something that had given him a lot of gun experience, at least.

Gun experience and a _ temper.  _ Whirl threw tantrums better than spoiled starlettes. His prison-brawls were the stuff of legends, his screamed obscenities inspiring the minds of criminals everywhere. More than one hardened gangster had learned a few new curses when Whirl got riled.  

The only thing more notorious than his behavior was his fingers- that is, his lack of them. Somewhere, somehow, Whirl had lost a few on each hand (Ring and pinkie on his right, middle and index on his left) and had gotten prosthetics. The expensive kind, that involved a titanium mechanism that allowed for some movement, covered by realistic fake fingers. 

Realistic fake fingers that had long been lost, as all Whirl had were the metal pieces, screwed and bolted in the bone. Horrid scars scrawled about  the rest of his hands and arms, warning signs to anyone looking for a fight. 

A discussion had once broken out if he was either Italian or a Spaniard. The results boiled down to one bright individual proudly announcing the convict  _ “Was a mutt!”  _ before Whirl had split his face open. 

Turns out titanium stick-fingers didn’t hinder him all too much. 

Whirl was never convicted for more than your basics-assault and battery, robberies and the like. His connections were never revealed no matter how often lawyers tried. He’d nearly stopped being considered for parole after the third time he’d been arrested within two months of release. 

The fact he’d been picked for the rehabilitation program was a shock to everyone, Whirl included. 

Or at least it was until he got there.

The Lost Light Wildlife and Rehabilitation Center was a one of the four facilities “refurbished and saved” by the newly renamed Cybertron Company. It was the only one that did not allow any outside guests at all, as it housed “dangerous, violent, and lost cause” mers. AKA mers who were from fighting rings and the like, who came for initial rehabilitation until they could either be freed to the oceans, or transferred to one of the other four facilities. Not that all mers were transferred-- a handful, apparently, could never leave. Too violent, too fucked up, too much of a mess.

Whirl could relate.

The place was enormous-the size of a small town. Made sense, considering a lot of mers apparently lived here full time. It had ocean access and a “local pod connection” whatever the hell that was, but a majority of the massive tanks were only connected to each other. An effort had been made for everything to look natural-- rocks, real plants, the works. The recent “partnership” of the Caimen Corporation (even Whirl had heard enough to know it that had been a buy out, The Cybertron Company had sunk almost immediately into the red the second it’s new owner had taken the reins) had allowed for a second refurbishment-more tanks, more space, and the addition of the barracks, for the parolees to live in. The entire thing was five years into existence now, and a darling of the public eye. 

Considering the other two facilities consisted of a glorified aquarium and two theme parks, Whirl thought the entire thing was a giant fucking joke.

Apparently the rest of the world didn’t share his opinion, considering the number of prizes that the whole set up had won. ‘ _ Environmentally friendly, leader in aquatic relations, innovative open-ocean policies! _ ’ Bullshit. It was all bullshit.

When you got down to it, most everything was. 

Whirl got down to the particular bit of BS going on at the Lost Light when he was assigned tank cleaning duties. Here they spent all that time blathering about him being selected for his  _ potential  _ when in reality, they’d selected him for his scuba certification and the fact no one cared if he died via a mer mauling. 

“Just clean the tanks you’re assigned! We promise there won’t be any mers in them! Buncha liars.” Whirl growled, checking his gear over. He hadn’t even been here two weeks and already that had proven incorrect. They’d spent a solid month putting him through some kind of bullshit prep program before even transferring him, discussing safety and shit, and whadda know it was all for nothing. 

Typical.

At the least they’d given him control of his hair back-- Whirl had been overjoyed to see the return of his blue hair. He’d even gotten it cut-the barber had all kinds of fancy words for it (“ _ What you want is an undercut for long hair!” _ ) but it just meant the sides were buzzed. Whirl’d had jaw length hair with buzzed sides for his entire life. The long pieces flipping over the left side of his head to curl gently under his chin. He’d run his hands through it a few times, not caring that strands had gotten caught in the joints of the metal. It was just nice to feel a little bit like himself again.

Now if they’d just let him have  _ all  _ his graphic shirts back instead of just the “appropriate” ones…but he’d take what he could get. Mostly he could only wear the stupid Lost Light parolee shirts anyway. 

Didn’t make any of these less of a farce. 

 

xXx

A month in and he hadn’t made any friends.

The case manager assigned to him insisted he was improving. Whirl thought she was high and told her so. She’d smugly quoted him, recalling back to the time he’d called this place “tolerable” and well, yeah. Anything was more tolerable than  _ prison. _ Sure, Ultra Magnus, the fucking tank of a man who ran the LL, wasn’t that bad of a guy, even if he had a rulebook apparently shoved so far up his ass that he couldn't help but vomit regulations every time he opened his mouth. Some of the other parolees weren’t that bad company (nevermind what they thought of him.)  Whirl even liked some of the staff, not that he was ever going tell them that. And that wasn’t even getting into the mers. 

Turns out “local pod connection” had meant the place had a literal pod of mers-wild ones-who came in and out, helping out when available. A few lived in the facility full time-Whirl’d grown pretty fond of their version of a doctor. Ratchet, was the mer’s name-and before coming here Whirl hadn’t even known mers could speak English let alone sass him in it. 

He wasn’t softening any. He was still hard, still going hard. Still working out in the room he’d been forced to share, maintaining his build. He still got thrown in their version of a jail-the brig they called it-at least twice weekly and solitary at least twice. Which, okay, was less than it had been before, but come on. There was _ interesting _ shit to do here. Always something new, some mer causin’ a ruckus or making a breakthrough. He had things he didn’t want to miss now. 

Didn’t mean he was attached. Didn’t mean he liked it.

He maintained that story when he was given more responsibilities after he’d “proven himself.” He kept it when he got a new section of tanks to maintain, supposedly housing more difficult mer. He was _not proud_ (fuck you very much Cyclonus!), and he had no interest in upping his contact with mers. The staff was still insistent that the mers weren’t in the tanks he cleaned but the damn things were all connected. Doors could close, yeah, and for the most dangerous mers-the newly rehabilitated or the ones incapable of getting along with the mers in the main tank, they were permanently cut off or placed in holding tanks while their main one was being cleaned (and wasn’t _that_ whole process a chore) but a good handful had come and gone while Whirl had worked. Few stayed, though some had tried to bug him (and a few still did. Whirl found himself oddly unable to snap at Tailgate though, and that wasn’t because Cyclonus was stupidly attached to him. The little mer was just so damn naive that it felt wrong that he was here at all. Apparently it was by choice-Tailgate was allowed to leave at any time through the ocean access but largely chose to remain and help. The fact he could easily have doubled for an oversized marshmallow also totally wasn’t a factor. _Totally_.) 

The point was, he was never in a tank without a mer. Not when they were connected like that. Safety was nothing more than an illusion. This new group of tanks just served to prove his point.

Particularly, tank 12.

Tank 12 hosted what had to be the saddest looking mer Whirl had ever seen. He hadn’t even realized it was there, not until he’d finished. It’d poked a head out of the small cave that made up half of the floor, and darted right back in when it realized Whirl was still getting out. A chill went down Whirl’s spine at how close he must have gotten to it-and how well it must have been able to hide considering he’d been  _ all over _ that tank. He never went into the caves-it was a massive no-no and hell, even he respected the privacy of someone’s room be it four walls or a hole in a rock. 

He was far more careful the next time he went in.

Sure enough the mer was there-Whirl caught a flash of bright orange and the brightest blue eyes he’d ever seen on a mer-or a human, for that matter. It ducked as far back into it’s little cave as it could get. 

Whirl left it alone. 

He’d say he’d kept an eye on it, but that was laughable, considering the poor state of his own eyes. It wasn’t obvious at first, not anymore, but his left eye was a mess. The whole thing, from pupil to whites, was covered in a clouded, milky-white, faint scars decorating the edges. As with everything else Whirl had been dealt with in life, he’d learned to live with the loss of half his vision fairly well. 

It just meant he was on high alert every time he went into that particular tank. 

His nerves both settled and skyrocketed when he got close to the little guy by accident-Whirl had thought he’d scanned the tank well, thought the orange mer was in his rightful place in his cave. Whirl had slapped the top of the water a few times-something the staff insisted on as a forewarning for mers-before dropping in, and starting his cleaning.

Whirl still wasn’t sure why the mer didn’t hear him-though judging by the barely-healed wounds he’d gotten a glimpse of he thought it might’ve been distracted or had an injury temporarily affecting its hearing. Something. It had been curled around the back of it’s cave rather than in it, and it’s reaction to Whirl coming face to face with it still haunted him. 

The convict had started from the bottom, as all cleaners did, and worked his way up. As with most tanks, half the wall of 12 was covered in fake rock, to make it look more natural. All that had to be cleaned of course, and Whirl had come up over the edge of the side of the cave intent on working his way to that wall. 

Between it and him, the mer crouched. It’s eyes had grown comically wide when it caught sight of him- before scrambling back and flattening itself down. It shook so hard Whirl thought it’d hurt itself. The convict shot backwards, certain he was about to get into a fight he wasn’t positive he’d win, and  paused only when he realized how  _ terrified _ the mer was. 

Even underwater, he could hear the quiet, distressed clicking, the poor thing curling in on itself the longer he looked.

Whirl signed a butchered version of  ‘No Harm’ and ‘Sorry’ pretty fucking quick-the signals being one of the few things he’d deemed useful in the tiring, constantly repeated safety meetings. He slowly floated away, then up, making sure to give the mer as much room as possible. His mind told him to bolt, to swim faster, but he didn’t want to give the mer an opening. Didn’t want to be surprised. 

It allowed him a good look at it as he rose.

_ Fuck _ was it small! 

He was used to the bigger mers. The whole facility was filled with them-big hulking things that had been bred to tear one another apart. If they weren’t big they were “pretty”-in the way a human would find attractive, rather than a mer, and those had been bred for an entirely different reason.  

This one though? It was just  _ tiny,  _ and covered in scars and odd bumps. It’s head fins were ragged, and even curled up like it was Whirl was pretty sure he could easily pick it up. It didn’t move beyond raising it’s head to watch him, small fingers clutching hard at rock, and Whirl finally broke eye contact when he surfaced.

He scrambled to get out, breathing hard at the adrenaline those few seconds of lost visual caused, but he was out without an incident. 

He waited a minute, catching his breath, deciding what to do. In the end he still had half a tank to clean, and he knew if he didn’t clean it he was gonna get asked why. Springer, his direct supervisor would blame him for sure if he told him the truth, so that was straight out. 

After a minute of contemplation, Whirl leaned over and slapped the water.

“I gotta finish cleaning the tank!” He said, raising his voice so the mer could hear. It’d sound a bit warbled under water, but the staff swore mer hearing was better than a human's. Even if damaged.  “I’ll give ya ten minutes to either hide or leave-your choice!” 

Then he waited. 

It hide.

Adrenaline coming back, knowing this probably wasn’t the best choice, Whirl dropped back into the tank.

It wasn’t the first time he was thankful he didn’t dive with a full suit and gear, but certainly the first time he’d truly meant it. The small, specialty oxygen tank offered a lot more flexibility and speed. He had been offered a myriad of other gear but had gone with the very basics, passing up even the wetsuit for spandex shorts and shirt. Didn’t even bother with the flippers-he’d dived enough times in a fight scenario to know he preferred not to have them. It allowed him to feel a touch safer, even in a scenario such as this one. Cleaning a tank, with a terrified mer.

Well, people had died in stupider ways, at least. 

It was the fastest cleaning job Whirl had ever done, and all throughout he could hear it’s quiet, distressed clicks. It just egged him on, to go faster, to get out. He hadn’t spent a lot of time with mers and even he knew they weren’t supposed to make that noise. It sounded soulless-desperate and lost. 

In the mer’s rush to hide, it’d left a half-eaten fish. Whirl left it alone, cleaning around it but the more he looked at it the more he felt- bad. The noises absolutely didn’t help. 

It wasn’t a feeling he was used too. 

Mind made up, he grabbed the fish, figuring the little guy wasn’t probably going to come out of his cave for a while, given his reaction, and placed it at the mouth of the cave, all the while watching for signs of aggression.

All he caught sight of was it’s head, peering around some rocks. 

He made the sign for “sorry” again, dropped the fish, and left. 

Fuck him if he was ever that blasé about cleaning a tank again! 

xXx

Ratchet had promised him it would be safe.

Rung liked Ratchet-he did. He trusted him too, something still a little foreign to him, even now. Ratchet meant no harm and had his best interests in mind. Rung knew that.

But the medic was a touch spacey, and forgetful. He got carried away trying to save the people around him-mer and human-and went above his call of duty. This meant he wasn’t always reliable for this kind of information. 

Rung knew, because he’d been attacked more than once over it.

It wasn’t the other mers fault. He knew that. He was a disjointed _ mess. _ He didn’t move like other mers, not even when he had his full range of motion. Couldn’t communicate in the ways they could. Body language played a larger role in life than most people realized and Rung was always saying the wrong thing, no matter what he meant. 

He had a feeling that had been done on purpose. 

Rung had been raised entirely away from other mers, as a pet project for a man who taught him more about the human world than anything else. He was probably the only mer in the world who held a PhD. It was more than that-Rung had held  _ many  _ roles in the years he’d spent with One. He didn’t recall how he came into his old owner’s hands, didn’t remember his puphood at all, but that was par the course for a thing like him.

He’d been a novelty. A highly educated mer, one that could defend a thesis one minute, then show you all kinds of new sexual kinks the next. Perfection had been expected and perfection had been given. Rung had been broken as a sex toy as well as a philosopher fit to entertain the brightest of minds. He still remembered his commands, years later. 

Even when One had disappeared, and Rung had been sold. 

The right word could make him freeze, could turn him into a puddle of willful obedience. The people who’d come had known that. What they hadn’t known was what to  _ do _ with him. He was half starved, abandoned with no idea if it was some new test of One’s or the real thing. He was too small for the fighting ring, too damaged looking to sell to a prostitution house. 

So they’d sold him as a breeder.

Rung didn’t know how many eggs he’d had. They were taken from him the second the mill he’d been sold to had deemed the eggs good to go. He’d never seen his pups, never known if that’s what his eggs had even become. One had been fond of eating mer eggs, after all. But he’d never forced Rung to breed, never forced him to hand over  _ his  _ o _ wn eggs _ and Rung found the process to be more horrifying than anything One had ever done. He cried more nights than not, fought back when he’d never dared before. 

He knew the eggs were alive. He knew they had the potential to turn into pups, into people. He had done his best to protect them, each and every brood, no matter how hurt he was. No matter how hard they beat him. Rung tried in the beginning, to beg and barter with the humans who came. Tried talking, tried _ anything.  _

They ignored him entirely, unless he got in the way.

Eventually he stopped. Tried his best to shore up his defenses-to put his mind to work. He was kept in a small tank, small enough that he could barely turn around without smacking a wall, but he tried. The floor was dirty with excrement, the water never properly filtered and the fish old, but he lived. 

He hadn’t wanted too, not after his first brood.

Rung hadn’t know what they were doing the first time they’d open the gate into his tank. He’d been so claustrophobic, so desperate to get  _ out, _ he’d scrambled through it without thinking. The orange mer quickly realized the horrid reality of the second tank however, the second time he’d been raped by another of his species.

He hadn’t known then if all mers were that much larger than him. He didn’t know if mating was supposed to hurt that much. He knew the other mers were drugged, or if not, crazed. He knew it wasn’t their fault anymore than it was his. 

Rung didn’t know how long he was there, or how many broods he’d had for them. He didn’t know anything, other than the date of the day he was rescued. And he only knew that because Ratchet had told him. 

The mill was one of the worst they’d ever encountered, the Comet Mer had said. Ratchet was a healthy shade of white and red, of normal size and strength. He’d spent a long time coaxing Rung into better health after his rescue, trying to get him to socialize the entire time. The medic also spent a great deal of time trying to convince Rung that these humans were different. These ones were  _ safe. _

That, Rung wasn’t sure he could believe. 

Ratchet, as previously mentioned, was tired, overworked and forgetful. Rung didn’t know if he was just used to seeing abused mers or if he’d simply spent enough time with Rung to not realize, but the first time Rung had taken his advice, had gone to speak with the rest of the recovering mer’s cleared to spend time together in the massive main tank, it hadn’t ended well. 

Through trial and error, they discovered it wasn’t something he could control. How could it be, when it was a combination of his wounds, his looks, the very way he moved? Body language were important, was a large part of how mers communicated and Rung’s was all wrong. He only had to be injured twice, slammed into the wall by a screeching, heavy mer to decide he absolutely did not want to leave his tank ever again. 

This one at least, wasn’t claustrophobic.

Ratchet visited as often as he could. Worked with Rung as much as possible-worked with other mers to make Rung safe. It’d been four years and they’d finally gotten to a point where, provided it was a certain group who knew him, Rung could come out. And he did go out, did tried to socialize. It made him feel better slightly, even if the others had trouble remember his name. Even if he said little. They _ knew  _ him, okayed him for others. Made the world feel a little safer to interact in.

Some had even started visiting. Ratchet’s idea no doubt, but it was fun to hear the on-goings of the things around him. To have something take pull his mind from his own depression, even if for a few minutes. 

He still cried at night. He was just quieter about it now.

Ratchet had cleared the main tank for him-promised it would be safe when he came by to check on Rung.

“It’s the usual crew.” Ratchet had said, and Rung couldn’t blame him for not knowing it wasn’t.  Rung would’ve missed the other mers too, they blended in pretty well with the “permanent crew.” 

He never saw the attack coming. Hadn’t even registered the unknown mers presence. He had trilled a greeting to Skids, the former fighter casting a grin and a wave in his direction-and then Rung had gone flying back, back smashing against the hard, false rockwall. Claws shredded his shoulders, fangs snapped inches from his face. Rung went limp immediately, doing the best he could to look submissive and knew it wasn’t coming through. 

It took Skids and Fort Max to pull the mer off. Rung sunk to the bottom of the tank, intending to slink back to his own, watching in horror as the mer responded to being restrained by thrashing. It wasn’t a proper fighter, but it’s eyes glazed over the second contact had been made.  _ Bait mer then.  _ He thought. Blood floated past Rung’s eyes, jolting him and he darted as fast as he could back to his own tank.

He didn’t need to be a target for anybody else today.

Drift came to him a few minutes later, slapping the top of the water and dropping a few first aid items in. Rung made few exceptions for humans these days. He enjoyed watching them, if he was far enough away and there was a solid sheet of tank-glass between them, but Drift had managed to worm his way past Rung’s defenses. Typically the orange mer didn’t like to be seen by their carers, didn’t like interacting with them at all. Only made any kind of appearance to multiple people if it was bring your kid to work day.

Rung liked bring your kid to work day. It hurt him inside, seeing pups-even the human kind-stand happily by their parents and carers. Kids didn’t care though, about his appearance. They didn’t know what a mer was supposed to look like. How a mer was supposed to move. 

He liked to make faces through the glass at them-was delighted when they giggled and made faces back. The humans were always mildly alarmed-Rung was so shy for them that the behavior seemed drastically out of character, but Ratchet had warned them to leave him alone, and so they did. 

It was his one reprieve from life, even if his depression worsened for months afterwards. 

A product of their parolee program, Drift was the very first to graduate. He’d done such an impressive job he’d been allowed to sign on as a permanent member of the staff, working with other convicts and mers alike. 

He was also Ratchet’s boyfriend, which was the only reason Rung remotely gave him the time of day. He was still hesitant, even if Ratchet had made it clear that Drift was pod (and above that, that the relationship was consensual.)  The human had been respectful so far, and so Rung allowed himself to be seen as he retrieved the supplies. 

“I’ve called Ratchet, he’ll be over soon!” Drift called. The humans always spoke too loud when trying to communicate with someone underwater, but Rung let it go, as they all did. “You okay?!”

Pausing, the orange mer looked himself over, deemed himself fine. These weren’t serious wounds-not by his definition anyway. 

He gave a thumbs up to Drift, and ducked into his cave.

xXx

Ratchet brought him a fish. 

Rung munched on it as the Comet looked him over. Rung tried to shrug him off, as he always did (because what was a few more scars, in the long run?) but it didn’t phase the larger mer. 

“Can you even see how bad this is?!” The medic huffed, when Rung grumbled around his fish.

Rung twisted his head, considering as he chewed. His eyesight was poor-it always had been. Something to do with the color of his eyes, the blue was highly uncommon in mers. Just another thing that freaked others out. 

“No.” He concluded, surrendering the shoulder to Ratchet’s care. He’d had glasses in One’s care, but hadn’t been allowed to take them with when he’d been sold. He’d ended up considering their loss a win-if he couldn’t truly see how small his tanks were he couldn’t panic that much about it. 

After another minute of fussing with the wound, Ratchet left and Rung hid himself, between his cave and the rockwall of his tank, to finish his fish. The humans forgot about him sometimes, without meaning too-or perhaps they thought the other mers were sharing food with him. Rung didn’t mind the missed meals. He was used to going on much less as it was. 

He ate slowly, stopping for bouts of thinking in between each bite. Tried to figure out what he’d done wrong this time. It was subconscious, the way he moved, the way he’d been socialized, but he always re-examined the attacks. Tried to figure out what he could do _ better.  _

He’d been so distracted by his own inner monologue, going over the failure that was today, that he hadn’t heard the slaps of the water, or the drop of the human into his tank.

Hadn’t seen it, hadn’t heard it, hadn’t realized it at all-until he was face to face. 

Rung panicked.

He hadn’t been that close to a human in years. He’d just finally accepted having polite conversations with Drift and Magnus, _ from the middle of a tank and with mers he knew supporting him _ _ , _ and here this one was literally  _ in his face. _

The reaction was instinctive. He couldn’t help the noises-didn’t even know he was making them until long after. 

The human didn’t hurt him though-apologized, in fact. Left and let Rung dart into his cave. 

Rung had curled up behind the few rocks he’d stacked back there, peering over them and trying to control the shaking. The crying. 

He flinched when the human appeared again, but was unable to take his eyes off it. He wanted to be prepared if it came forward. It was large,with thick muscles like the kinds the mill’s humans had and Rung knew he couldn’t fight it off, even in his element, but he could try. 

Except the human didn’t enter. Just apologized again, and left Rung his fish. 

He didn’t touch it. Just stared. 

The human hadn’t hurt him. 

That was-that was progress, wasn’t it? This accidental encounter. It was some kind of step. He wasn’t in a blind panic, not like the kinds he’d used to go into. He could still think clearly. He was shaking and hiding, certainly but-it was different.

From before.

Rung, too scared to call for anyone to come, pushed himself as far back into the rocks as he could, doing every trick in the book he knew to calm himself down, and finally conceded the interaction as progress-even if it didn’t feel a bit like it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Much like Storm Rolling In this one has a plethora of warnings! Mentions of rape, torture, slavery (unwilling/forced) BDSM, fights to the death, PTSD, scars, kidnapping, invasive medical procedures, complete lack of consent, blood, gore, child slavery/kidnapping, body horror, fake pregnancy, eggs/pregnancy/egg laying, oviposition, significant mental/emotional trauma, Xeno (?? - I lean more towards Xeno with the human/mer fish thing, over anything else) annnd I honestly will have to go back and read everything lol. It's got a very similiar tone to Storm Rolling In.

 

* * *

 

“What’s up with the orange mer?” Blunt as always, Whirl hung an arm over the edge of the soaking pool, dragging his fingers through the water.

Ratchet, busy in scanning a mer about to be cleared for wild-release, smacked his fingers. “Focus on what you're doing.” He demanded and Whirl sighed, pulling his hand out and adjusting his hold on the water-proof machine to keep it from floating away. Whirl didn’t know what it did, or what Ratchet was using the little wand-thing for. Didn’t care to know.

He waited until Ratchet finished, dismissing the other mer with a series of whistles before he asked again.

“The one in tank 12. That mer.”

“What about him?”

“What’s his deal?” Whirl helped close up all the little open panels and shit on the machine, Ratchet making final notations on a waterproof tablet. The medic didn’t answer at first, stylus flashing in the overhead lights as he made notes.

Whirl was about to open his mouth to ask again when Ratchet finally answered.

“His name is Rung.” He said, setting the tablet to the side. “He was a rescue from a Mer-Mill. Why do you ask?” His eyes met Whirl’s head on. The con felt the usual chill go down his spine when they met. It was strange-seeing intelligence displayed on a face that was both human and _other._

Whirl shook the feeling off, debated what he wanted to say. Part of him- the part that liked his privacy, that kept things close, felt-weird-exposing another being. The rest of him thought he might help, if no one else had noticed and maybe Whirl wanted to do that. Help.

This mer, anyway.

“He cries at night a lot.” At least Whirl was pretty sure he was crying. He’d made a point to check up on Rung after the first night their little encounter. Whirl couldn’t say why. The distressed clicks had been audible even through the water. He’d felt awful about it, thought it was his fault-but over the next few weeks he’d noticed it was apparently, a regular thing for the orange mer. He was required to walk through his “area”, lock it down for the night and make sure all the tanks inhabitants he was responsible for were tucked in and alright to sleep.

Rung, as far as he could tell, did not sleep.

“Won’t talk to me, won’t eat the fish I put in his tank. I don’t think he’s getting the food he should be.” Whirl frowned, conjuring a mental image of the orange mer. Or what he’d seen of him anyway. “I don’t see him a lot but he looks damn thin.”

“You’ve seen him?” Ratchet asked, tone even. Too even. Whirl raised an eyebrow at him.

“On accident, but yeah. Scared the crap out of him mostly.” Whirl had made sure to loudly announce his presence every time he went remotely near the tank and the guy _still_ jumped.

Ratchet studied the human. Whirl let him, slouched against the lip of the soaking pool. He was in no mood to get up, let alone put away the floating machine they’d both been ignoring. Whirl had halfheartedly pulled it out of the water but had gone no further, more invested in this conversation.

“Mills,” Ratchet started, “are one of the worst places a mer can end up. They are one of the backbones of the illegal trade, breeding new mers so that people can obtain them easier. To prevent any problems, they take eggs away from their parent very, very early. Right before hatching.”

This sounded like it was he was gonna be here a while-- that was absolutely Ratchet’s ‘lecture voice.’ Whirl settled in for the long haul.

The mer didn’t disappoint. “Being used as a breeder means being forced to constantly carry a new set of eggs. This does an untold amount of damage on a mers body, let alone their psychology. Removing the eggs before they are hatched, then forcing the mer to repeat the process-” Ratchet stopped for a moment, looking into a far-of place, finger tapping a rhythm on the tiles. “Our species is not meant to go through that. We have strong, strong ties to _all_ of the pod’s young, nevermind parental ties.” He sighed, sight focusing back on Whirl. “Rung wasn’t sure how long he’d been in the mill. He didn’t know how many pups he lost. But he grieves for them-for every single one he was forced to give up. I am amazed he is doing as well as he is, considering.”

Whirl stayed silent at that. Digested it.

The convict had done a lot of bad things. Killed people, not that he’d admit that to anyone here. He had never been a part of any kind of trafficking ring though, human or otherwise. Had never come close to something like this.

Whirl didn’t know a lot about mills. He’d learned some things, since his arrival here. Most of it out of self-defense (what did and did not trigger individual mers could absolutely make a difference in a life or death situation.) but he knew enough to know Ratchet didn’t mean Rung had lost a few pups. They weren’t talking about seven or eight here. They were talking about _hundreds._

Hundreds of times he’d been forced to breed, been raped. Hundreds of times he’s had eggs, only to have them ripped from him. Hundreds of times life had kicked him in the face, then spit on him for good measure.

That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t fair _at all._

“Talking to him’s a good idea, to let him know you are there-but don’t expect him to reciprocate, Whirl. He’s had a harder life than most the mers here. He deserves some peace.” Ratchet was serious, using The Serious Tone (™) and Whirl agreed just to put him at ease. Got up to put away the machine-thing.

Thought a whole lot about how Rung didn’t have peace. Not here. Probably not anywhere.

Tried to figure out how he could fix that.

xXx

“Come on, it’s Rewind’s birthday! You’ve gotta come out for Rewind’s birthday!” Tailgate wheedled, spinning lazily on his side in front of Rung’s cave.  The orange mer was sprawled in the sand, hands holding up his head.

“I am sure you can send along my congratulations.” Rung said, mildly. Rewind was a very popular mer, if not thee most popular within the center. A member of the Lost Light Pod, the wild pod the Center took it's name from, and whose members came in from time to time (and who Ratchet, apparently, was a member of though Rung doubted the medic ever left the center.) the small mer had personally aided over 50 others in their rehabilitation. His lifemate, Chromedome was one of his firsts, and the two of them came often to lend a helping hand.

“He’s gonna be so disappointed if you’re not there though!” Tailgate whined, finally stopping his spinning to sink down, in front of Rung. “Please? Just once? Skids and Max and a bunch of the others are all gonna be there, we can escort you in and out and everythin’!”

The thought of leaving his tank made him nervous, as it always did, but in the end Rung was won over by Tailgate’s famous pout. He agreed, on the conditions the Skids and Fort Max do the escorting, and smiled gently when the beluga whale-based mer cheered.

The two larger mer did in fact, show up to escort, making polite conversations the whole way-both having grown fond of Rung during the course of their stays. Rung let them do the leading, keeping himself firmly between them as they entered the main tank. He continued to stay mostly by the “permanent crew” as the party commenced, a number of humans sitting around the lips of the soaking and relaxing shallows attached to the main tank, attending the party as well. Rewind was inherently curious about-well, everything. A self-proclaimed “record keeper” of his pod, he was an excellent storyteller, and told more than a few to the crowds delight.

It was fun. Relaxing even, to be with this many mer who accepted Rung. He let his shoulders unwind, his fears slowly fading. He laughed at a few of Rewind’s tales, and even briefly participated in one of the games brought into the tank.

He could feel eyes on him. Could feel the other mers, the newer and unknown, tracking him, frowns on their faces whenever they discovered his presence. Expressions ranged from puzzled to outraged, and Rung kept himself firmly in the company of friends.

The assumption was that this would deter any spats, with some of the larger members of the permanent pod running interference and Rung was in the middle of thinking how grateful he was to these mers, the few he dared call friends, for putting so much effort in just for him.

Of course, separation of this kind was only voluntary. Guarding only worked so long as the other mers also kept away, kept from coming at him. Little things-little beings, could get through no problem. Particularly as time went on and everyone stopped paying such close attention.

Rung had retired to sit near some of the rock wall outcroppings, smiling at the social interactions going on around him when something bumbled into his arm. He looked over-then down, and froze as a mer pup peered up at him.

It peeped, bumbling into him again, then stuck out the tip of it’s tongue.

It wanted to be held.

Years of instincts, of hormones constantly on edge made Rung react without thinking. He peeped back, reaching down to cuddle the pup to him. Chubby arms raised themselves up, a happy warble in the babes’ throat.

An odd, overwhelming kind of happiness absorbed Rung. Finally, finally, he’d get to hold one, after all this time…!

Pain lanced down Rung’s side and he shrieked as he was thrown away from the pup. A body slammed into him from a different direction, furious hissing resounding loudly and Rung fought on instinct, immediately back at the mill, being taken away from his pups.

The scream he let out, high pitched in panicked, temporarily stunned his attacker-enough for Rung to dart around him. More bodies suddenly filled his vision, the water abruptly bursting into chaos and Rung screamed again as he was dragged back, away from the pup.

_‘No, I won’t let it happen again, I won’t! I’m here, I’m here for you-!’_ Rung didn’t know if he thought it or said it. Didn’t know where he was.

“-ung, Rung!” That was Ratchet’s voice. Rung blinked, chest heaving.

They were back in his tank, the medic lying atop him, pinning him to the floor. The sensation was-different than the kind of restraint he was used to. Calming. He tried to let it soothe him-except he couldn’t because someone had the pups, _his pups!-_

“They weren’t yours.” Ratchet said, head tilted close to Rung’s and the orange mer froze.

_‘That’s-that’s right. Not mine. Never mine.’_

Rung collapsed, a wail rising in his throat. Ratchet purred something at his back, arms encircling him, head rubbing against the side of Rung’s.

It was all Rung could to do clutch at an arm and cry.

xXx

“What the hell was all that!?” Springer demanded, running a hand through his hair. They’d finally got all the mers separated and checked out, though medical still had a few left to see to. No serious wounds-not for this facility anyway-but the attack had still come out of nowhere. Scared the hell out of every human involved-and more than one of the mers.

Rewind shrugged up at him helplessly. “Dunno, I didn’t see it. Did any of you?” The small black mer turned, searching out the few mers considered “staff.”

“Rung.” Skids said, his face boasting red claw-marks. “A pup went near him.” The blue mer’s eyes narrowed, arms crossing. “Who cleared any of the new parents to come out to this? I thought we all agreed the celebration was too much for them?”

A gasp to his right-a human one. The whole group turned as one to look at  one of the younger engineers, a dark skinned girl with a riot of purple hair. Nautica’s hands raised to cover her mouth in horror. “I said they could.” She said in a small voice, eyes bright with worry. “One of them asked and their files all said they were good to leave-they’re just waiting on the pups growing a bit more so I didn’t even think-oh my _God!”_

Velocity, the medic in training, leaned over, hugging her friend. “It’s alright, you didn’t know. Normally it would have been fine-we just can’t let them out when Rung’s in the tank.”

Something that should have been noted in the file, or would have been, if it wasn’t one of the most overlooked notations in the entire program. Everybody forgot about Rung from time to time.

Even Springer.

Barely 30, the dark haired man pinched the bridge of his nose. Magnus was gone for the week, away at some sort of conference and he was going to be furious to hear this all had gone down.

He wanted to yell, and knew that’d get them nowhere.

“Wake everyone up, have them do a check of the facility.” He said-not that he suspected any of their parolees were sleeping, at this point. Having more eyes on the situation made him feel better though, and would give his parolees a chance at feeling like they were contributing.

“We will discuss this all tomorrow.” He growled, knowing Ratchet was with Rung now, and that the mers input was 100% needed.

The group broke, a handful of others going over to console Nautica. Springer avoided her entirely, too angry to play nice.

It was an honest mistake. They had a list of codes for who was okay to go in the main tank, and technically, the pups were clear. They hadn’t really come up with a system to indicate who was safe to go in with Rung, instead relying on the other mers to inform him and at times, leave a note in the file to watch to see if Rung was in the tank. Which of course didn’t work if the note wasn’t in all the files. Rung was ignored often, by human and the staff mers alike, as he wasn’t nearly as big a problem as half the mers they got in and Springer regretted ignoring him now, that it had caused this.

It was on his head, no matter who had done it.

“What a mess.” He sighed, not registering the he’d walked past Whirl-or how much of the conversation Whirl had heard.

The next four hours were so busy in fact, that _no one_ noticed Whirl. By the time anyone remembered the convict existed Whirl was already back in his bunk, grumbling and complaining with the rest of the parolees.

No one noticed anything out of place, either. There was too much going on for that. Too many things were misplaced in a rush, too many mers with injuries. Too many that needed reassuring they were okay, too many that needed attention.

It’d take weeks for anyone to figure out something was gone.

Just as Whirl had intended.

xXx

Whirl’s knowledge of mers came in two categories. Things he thought were cool, and things he thought might save his ass.

Since talking to Ratchet some odd number of weeks ago, Whirl had added a third category; mer pups and the loss of them.  

Turns out the facility had a number of stupid little tricks to help mers deal with trauma surrounding dead or stolen pups. One of them was fake eggs.

“It helps them let go.” A scientist whose name might have been Brian but who insisted on being called Brainstorm had said, after more than a few shots of vodka that absolutely had not come from Whirl. “They know it’s fake. They’ve all got crazy-ass hormones running rampant though, _especially_ after losing a brood, and having something to slowly ease them out of the whole parenting process helps.”

Which made sense, kinda. People needed time to come to terms with crap.  Had to “accept the situation” and “recovery in different ways” and other shit Whirl’s therapist may or may not have said. (Whirl wouldn’t know, he was too busy most days trying to find new ways to rearrange her office without her noticing.)

What didn’t make sense was why Rung didn’t have any of those eggs. His file, that Whirl had absolutely not stolen and made photocopies of (It was their fault for leaving the front office _unlocked,_ Cyclonus, and if you rat me out I’m mass-emailing all those songs you wrote for Tailgate to the entire staff!) noted some effort had been made, but clearly it hadn’t been enough. If that whole riot last week hadn’t been proof the orange mer wasn’t even remotely over losing his pups than nothing would be.

What had it been that Ratchet said? Rung had potentially lost _hundreds_ of babies?

Yeah, Whirl wouldn’t be over that either. Leave it to a bunch of fucking idiot humans to give you a hug and expect you to be fine. ‘ _What do you mean you’re not okay? You’ve had three whole weeks to get over being raped and held captive for years and forced to kill people by someone who you trusted but in reality just got you hooked on drugs so they could blackmail you-_ and hmm, alright that last part might not have been about Rung.

Moving on.

The point was Rung clearly was not being taken care of. At least, not to the full extent of the facilities capacity. They had like, a dozen fake eggs. They could give a few to Rung. Percy, the other scientist, had blathered about the extreme cost of the eggs, and high demand and how how they couldn’t interrupt mers recovery plans. He’d also forgotten Rung’s name twice and seemed entirely unable to recall the mer in general, so Whirl took all that with a grain of salt.

It came down to what it usually did. Whirl making a decision that was probably illegal, but was going to actually do something.

If Rung wanted eggs, he’d get some fucking eggs.

It’d been stupid easy taking a few. Whirl had a lifetime of doing shit like this, with places he had only gotten a glimpse of. _This place_ he knew inside out. It was just a matter of distracting a few people and telling a little lie or two. Grabbing Brainstorm’s badge when the scientist was busy and returning it when he was busier.

By the time anybody would figure it out, Rung would have long had the eggs and who in their right mind would take them from him? No one, that’s who.

The hardest part was hiding them until he could give ‘em to the orange mer.   


Whirl had to wait for all the fuss to die down. For the attention to go off Rung and for things to go back to normal. It’d been a struggle-the entire incident had caused a lot of mers to backstep. Rung especially was in bad shape. Not that Whirl physically saw him, but he’d definitely heard him.

The cries had always been hard to hear but they had absolutely jumped up in intensity. Judging by the fish Whirl was cleaning out, Rung wasn’t eating at all anymore. The convict wasn’t even sure he’d left his little cave.

No one else really checked up on him. Not the way they did with other mers. Sure, he’d gotten a pretty big jump in visitors right after it happened, but apparently Ratchet had said something to Springer and all the humans had backed off. They’d asked questions about him-hell, even asked Whirl questions!-for the first few days, but as things slowly went back to normal, Rung faded from everyone’s minds. At least, the actual mer did, Springer was hard at work trying to come up with some way to indicate what mers were and were not safe to go in the main tank when Rung was there.

He’d even suggested banning Rung entirely from the main tank and enclosing him in an isolation tank instead. Whirl knew, because he’d heard Ratchet tear him a new one for it. Mers could be _loud_ when they wanted to.

Whirl had finally deemed it safe though. Ratchet and the other staff mers were busy, the human staff was busy, and most of the parolees either didn’t care or cared so much they were invested in the arguments going on around them.

Whirl left one such argument to go do his final checks on his tanks, two fake eggs stuffed in the pouch of his hoodie.

He went to Rung’s tank first.

He carefully took the eggs out, placed them gently down, leaned over and slapped the top of the water.

“I got something for you.” Whirl said it softly. He always tried to speak to Rung softly, though it usually didn’t last long. The convict had made an effort to talk to Rung every night before he ended his checks. He usually left Rung’s tank for last because of this-because he wanted time to talk-but figured Rung wouldn’t mind if he switched things up for this.

“I know you absolutely do not want to come up here with me, but I wanna make sure you get them. So I’m going to put these mer eggs on the edge of the tank, and I’m going to back way, way up. Like, to the door. N’ once I see you got em safely, I’m going to leave. Okay?” Whirl did just that, putting the eggs down. “I’m walking away now!”

He walked backwards, until he was nearly out the door. The way the facility worked, the top of each “small” tank was connected to a singular room. The tanks were enormous, and stretched downwards, mostly into a massive room that contained most of the other tanks. They were sectioned off by false walls, giving the appearance that each individual tank was separated entirely from the others (and privacy, of course.) There were four of these larger rooms, surrounding the main tank, and then a number of other tanks that made up the rest of the facility. Whirl didn’t know how it all connected, or where the ocean access came into play or what. He just knew he could lean against the door and no one would disturb him any-or see anything they shouldn’t.

It took a few minutes. Whirl had figured the very word “egg” would have been enough to get Rung to come up, but he’d underestimated how cautious the mer was. He didn’t care.

The other mers weren’t gonna complain if he was late. They didn’t care about last checks.

Rung rose so slowly Whirl almost didn’t catch it at first. His head showed just barely over the top of the tank-having gone above the water enough to see if there were, in fact, eggs.

Spotting them made him come up further, until his entire head was above water.

Whirl had always known Rung had stunningly blue eyes, but he’d only ever caught them in flashes. The full effect, stuck to the eggs innocently laying on the side of the tank-widening in wonder and more than a touch of fear, was _devastating._

“Mine?” He rasped, his voice echoing the room around them, the water casting reflections on his face.

“Yeah.” Whirl said. “All yours.”

Rung floated up to the edge, raised two shaking arms to encircle the eggs. He slowly pulled them to his chest, pausing only to look over at Whirl.

The human gave him a nod.

Rung cuddled them, face breaking into a look that screamed adoration. He sunk back down quickly, vanishing before Whirl even registered he’d moved, but it’d been enough.

Whirl left to do his other checks, small smile on his face, hands in his pockets.

The world was a dark, vile thing, but tonight, it felt just a touch brighter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Much like Storm Rolling In this one has a plethora of warnings! Mentions of rape, torture, slavery (unwilling/forced) BDSM, fights to the death, PTSD, scars, kidnapping, invasive medical procedures, complete lack of consent, blood, gore, child slavery/kidnapping, body horror, fake pregnancy, eggs/pregnancy/egg laying, oviposition, significant mental/emotional trauma, Xeno (?? - I lean more towards Xeno with the human/mer fish thing, over anything else) annnd I honestly will have to go back and read everything lol. It's got a very similar tone to Storm Rolling In.

* * *

 

“Hey, I’m coming in to clean!” Whirl said the next afternoon. He stood, unsure, next to Rung’s tank. The mer hadn’t had his eggs for very long, and mer with newborns were _aggressive._

Like, more than half the fighting mers were.

He didn’t know how Rung was gonna react to his eggs. Whirl was certain he’d get attached to them, but then, they were fake. Brainstorm had said the mers knew they were fake and mostly didn’t care-but there was always a chance they didn’t know. Or knew and didn’t care, and would react violently anyway.

Whirl had a difficult time imagining the little orange mer as aggressive considering his timid behavior but hey, given the right circumstance anybody could have a total freakout. Mer freakouts tended to fucking hurt.

Whirl inched towards the tank, his gear having been prepped forever ago. Rung was his last stop, mostly because Whirl had been avoiding doing his tank. He hadn’t really thought about the consequences of giving Rung the egg until this morning and while he didn’t regret it, he wasn’t sure how to go about cleaning the tank without getting torn apart.

“I’m gonna start with the top first and uh, I guess if I get too close just tell me? And I’ll get out?” He said, screwing up his courage. This is why he had the light gear. So he could swim fast.

He leaned over, staring at the water. “Unless you don’t want me to clean at all, because I don’t think skipping a day’s really gonna _-fuck!”_  Whirl ripped his head back, as an orange one surfaced directly under it.

“Are you using the standard Energon cleaner?” Rung asked, as if he hadn’t just given Whirl a heart attack. The human breathed hard, and Rung shot back immediately, away from him, until he was floating opposite him in the tank. As though surfacing right under had been a mistake.

“What?” Whirl asked, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

“The standard energon cleaner is not safe for unhatched eggs. The tank must be cleaned with the light cleaner.” Rung told him, voice quiet. He cast a glance down to his lap, as though to check something, before flicking his eyes back to Whirl.

_‘Stupid, mer’s don’t have laps, he’s holding something under the water.’_ Whirl chided himself immediately.  “I’ll uh-I’ll go get it.” He said. “Does this mean you’re okay with me cleaning the tank-?”

Rung’s head tilted down, another check. “Eggs need a clean environment.” He said. It sounded absent, as though his mind was elsewhere.

The eggs. Whirl realized. Rung was holding the eggs, just under the water.

“Is that a yes?” Whirl guessed it was a yes. Rung hummed, which well, could have been anything, then sank under the surface

Well then.

“Okay.” Whirl said, breathe slowly evening out. He was still a little wide-eyed-- Rung had moved without any kind of warning and Whirl had been _looking at the water!_ \-- but did as asked and retrieved the correct cleaner.

He retrieved a couple of extra fish while he was at it.

In the end he still didn’t clean the whole tank. Cleaning the floor had made him nervous so he’d only cleaned the edges, and avoided the cave entirely. He placed the fish down as close as he was comfortable getting (not close at all) and pretended not to notice Rung had stacked rocks up in both the passageway that connected his tank to others as well as the entrance to his cave. The human hazarded that blockades were the only reason he’d felt okay surfacing-the holes he’d left so small only the orange mer had a hope of getting through.

Well, that and the hormones. Brainstorm had said all kinds of things about fucked up, surging parental hormones. Could “cause a haze” apparently, that caused their only care in the world to be about their eggs.

Rung definitely looked checked out, alright.

He spent the next few days sneaking away to visit Rung every time he felt safe to do so. He brought extra fish with him, and was delighted when they seemed to be eaten. Some of the fish weren’t-- Whirl pulled them out of the tank the next day-- but the little mer always seemed to eat the one’s Whirl brought. The convict had tried to puzzle out what could possibly be the difference before deciding he didn’t care so long as Rung ate. The mer hadn’t appeared again, but the blockade to his outer tank had been changed around, to allow access to a larger mer.

Whirl still spoke to him. He asked after the eggs, and told Rung what new things he’d learned about eggs that day. He’d done a lot of studying in an effort to-- well, not help, because he couldn’t help anymore, but to... relate?

Maybe?

Fuck if he knew, it was just interesting.

Things were good though. Better than good-they were great, because the small mer was much, much better.

He knew, because Rung had finally stopped crying.

Whirl wasn’t licensed in mer psychology, but even he recognized a step forward when he saw one.  


xXx

There were humans in his area.

Humans that weren’t Whirl or Drift.

Rung knew them, recognized their voices and the voices echoing down through the water weren’t theirs. These voices were angry, frustrated. Rung was on edge immediately.

He checked his eggs, then double checked, then slowly inched forward to check on his rock barricades.

Something fell into the tank.

A fish.

Rung smelled it before he saw it. He was hunkered down in the entrance to his cave, and eyed the dead meal as it floated down.

There was something wrong with it.

_‘Drugs.’_ Rung realized. ‘ _They put drugs in it.’_

Drugs weren’t good for the babies.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. His hormones had been acting up. His entire body delighted to finally get to do what it had been denied for so long. Ratchet referred to it as “egg-brain” when discussing new parents and somewhere in the back of his foggy head, Rung definitely agreed that that was a good term for it.

There wasn’t a lot of room in his head for rational thought, and that’s where the humans ended up getting him. Because if his hormones hadn’t been all over the place, if he mentally wasn’t so out of it all he could thinking about was his eggs, he would have realized what the humans were trying to do long before they had even attempted it.

He was affected though. He was sluggish, and confused, and concerned about his eggs. Those things made him slow, made common sense hard.

Those things let him get caught.

Dragged out.

_Separated._

By the time Rung had figured it out he was pinned and it was too late. They’d struck him with a needle on a pole, twice. He fought for all he was worth and knew it wasn’t enough-but this time, he’d been allowed to bond to his eggs. This time he’d developed an attachment.

His brain was running on instincts and instincts alone-and instincts said to call for backup. Rung had backup, his subconscious reminded him, in the form of the human who’d given him the eggs to begin with. Who had brought him fresh fish. Who regularly patrolled the upper areas of Rung’s tank, kept it clean, and strengthened the rock-barriers when pieces fell. A human who had done all the traditional things, and then some.

Rung turned all that information over in his-now drugged-head, and came to the conclusion that human or no, that was _mate behavior._ And a mate’s job was to protect the nest, at all cost.

Whirl would come if called.

So Rung screamed for him. Screamed that he was in danger. That the eggs were being stolen. That he needed _help._

_‘Helphelphelp, hurt, losing eggs, can’t fight, help, mate, help-!’_

Like a good mate always did, Whirl responded.

 

xXx  


Something was wrong.

The door to Rung’s “room” was open. More than that, there was a fuckton of people in it. Whirl paused as he approached, eyeing the entire thing.

Rung _screamed._

The sound shot down Whirl’s spine in the way few things did. It was haunting, pain-filled and desperate, a call the likes of which Whirl had never heard a mer make before. He was through the door before he even registered he’d moved.

“Please no, please, not my babies! I’ll do whatever you want just, don’t take them, don’t hurt them, _give them back-please!”_ and the the wail rose again.

Time slowed down.

They taught you a few things, in the military, and a few more things in the particular unit Whirl had been strong-armed into serving. The remainder of his skills had been street learned, before and after his service, and they allowed him to do things like quickly assess a situation.

A few scientists stood in the corner, one overseeing a group of people in Rung’s tank. Whirl only recognized Percy, who’d frozen with a look of mild horror.

Rung was on the opposite side of the tank, covered by a cable net, pulled taught by a few of the burly-er parolees and four control poles. The kind they used on only the most aggressive of mer, the kind Whirl had only ever seen once before.

Rung was held above the water, screaming and struggling and absolutely no match for any of the humans who had caught him. He was held at an unnatural angle-Whirl knew that being pressed like that had to hurt the wing-like fins that perched on his back, let alone what it was doing to his arms. He wasn’t an expert in mer anatomy but he knew it was going to do more than leave a mark.

They were hurting Rung.

Whirl’s eyes met the mers-the wail dying on his lips as he registered the human before him.

Time returned.

Five seconds, and Whirl had disabled two of the control poles. Fifteen seconds and he’d incapacitated one parolee and was in the process of knocking the other clean out. The remaining two fought hard, the other people in the room turning and shouting at him. Burly didn’t mean strong and Whirl overpowered the remaining man and women easily enough, breaking a control pole in the process. Rung wormed free, the humans in the tank immediately bailing upon Whirl’s rampage and the release of the trapped mer.

Rung cried out again, and Whirl turned to see the head scientist _take his eggs._

Understanding and rage crashed through him. Whirl was on the man in moments. One swift uppercut staggered the man back, another to the side of his head stunned him. He fell back, arms loosening enough to allow Whirl to grab at the eggs. The people climbing out of the tanks quickly regrouped to try and stop him, but Whirl wasn’t rampaging without a point. It was easy enough to dodge back and around, until he had a clear shot at the water.

He fell more than he dived, but he made it.

Everyone was screaming now, though most of it was more on the yelling side than anything else-and nothing held a candle to Rung’s voice. Human hands grabbed at his shoulders when he surfaced and Whirl let them, his hands full.

“Rung, here!” The last bit was grunted as someone grabbed one of the control poles and tried to rein Whirl in with it. The mer focused on him immediately-and then to the eggs he held. Whirl protected them as the person wielding the pole changed tactics, using the pole as a weapon instead of trying to catch him with it. Whirl moved so that his shoulder took the impact instead of the eggs.

They’d hit him hard enough to bruise, but they hadn’t succeeded in damaging the eggs-something Whirl felt certain they were aiming for.

Rung’s eyes were wild, his arm at an unnatural angle. “Drop them.” He demanded, voice hoarse, then dived.

Whirl obeyed, knowing the mer was going under him in order to catch the eggs. Right in time too, as hands had secured him enough to haul him back up. He deadweighted, letting them do all the hardwork, intending to give Rung as much time as he could to shoot into the main tank. Humans might have failed him but the mers, the ones who knew him, wouldn’t. They would never take or destroy eggs he’d grown attached to.

Ratchet, Whirl knew for certain, would have never allowed something like this. Would have a fucking fit that Rung had been hurt through all of it. Rung would be okay if he got to him.

He didn’t care what happened to him, so long as Rung got that chance.

When they’d hauled more than half his body out of the tank, he tucked and rolled backwards. Used the momentum of the people pulling to power the move. He kicked out, smacking a woman in the ribs as he did so, then let the movement roll him into his feet.

More shouts sounded in the hallway. Backup had arrived. Whirl gave them a manic grin-he wasn’t going down without a fight. Not today.

Not _any_ day.

A woman grabbed one of his false fingers and twisted. Whirl howled, surging into her in an attempt to bowl her over. People swarmed him and Whirl fought, throwing everything he’d held back the last few months into it. They wanted to play monster? Fine. But they’d have to earn the right to do it by defeating a _real one_ first.

Whirl didn’t know how much time had passed. Fighting did weird things to your head, played with time like few other things could. He just knew he’d downed enough people to not feel guilty when they finally over-took him. They’d begun the process of pinning him to the floor and cuffing his hands behind his back when they were all suddenly drenched in a wave of water.

_“Stop!”_ Bellowed Ratchet and every soul in the room froze, as though the very word had bespelled them. Whirl knew better-Ratchet simply carried the weight and threat of command in his voice. It was a neat little trick and it worked nicely here.

Whirl relaxed. Turned to look at the seething mer.

This fight was over.

The others seemed to realize it, as they all slowly turned to look where Whirl did. Ratchet had two hands balanced on the edge of the tank, holding his body upright. His fins were as flared out as far as they could go, fangs bared in a hideous snarl.

“Where is Springer?” He growled, the sound animalistic. Whirl didn’t think the manager had arrived yet, but was proven wrong when the crowd awkwardly parted to let him through.

“Here.” Springer said. He’d been the farthest back, having just come through the door, and his own voice held it’s own quiet amount of power. Too bad it paled in comparison to the mer before him.

To bad for _them,_ anyway.

“Explain. _Now.”_ Ratchet’s response brooked no argument.  

Springer made one anyway. “I will explain to you when it’s been explained to me. I need to get everyone removed from this room, and check for injuries first.” And Whirl had to give him credit, he sounded pretty calm.

Whirl didn’t know if he would be, facing down Ratchet just then. The medic was _pissed._

Ratchet’s eyes narrowed, twin pinpricks of rage. “Fine.” He spat. “Organize your humans. I will take care of Rung.” He pushed himself off, falling back into the tank with a splash. No one spoke as he floated to the center of the tank, eyes still trying to burn holes in Springer’s forehead. “The explanation better be good Springer.” He said, slowly sinking into the water. “What you’ve done here could ruin the relationship between our species. Remember that.”

Then he was gone.

Springer turned in the following silence. His eyes swept the room-going cold when they landed on Whirl, still laying on the floor.

First rule about this kind of thing-if you knew you were screwed, then you might as well have some fun with it.

Whirl waved.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a reason--and a single person behind it-that everyone was so misinformed about the eggs, but he doesn't come into play until later so. 
> 
> Warnings: Much like Storm Rolling In this one has a plethora of warnings! Mentions of rape, torture, slavery (unwilling/forced) BDSM, fights to the death, PTSD, scars, kidnapping, invasive medical procedures, complete lack of consent, blood, gore, child slavery/kidnapping, body horror, fake pregnancy, eggs/pregnancy/egg laying, oviposition, significant mental/emotional trauma, Xeno (?? - I lean more towards Xeno with the human/mer fish thing, over anything else) annnd I honestly will have to go back and read everything lol. It's got a very similiar tone to Storm Rolling In.

* * *

 

Rung had been moved into Ratchet’s personal den. Not his medical den, or even the secondary den he had in his tank placed for special cases. His actual den, the one he slept in.

Skids and Fort Max stood guard on either side of the entrance, their faces stone blocks. Above, Drift resided in Ratchet’s “room,” protecting the top of the tank. 

Rung’s screams had affected them all, same as it had the day he’d seen the pup. Even Drift had responded instinctively, having spent a long enough time healing mers to recognize the scream for what it was. 

A mate-cry.

Ratchet explained, once more, to the humans before him why that was significant. Mate-cries were special. They were sacred. One done in upset was the worst way to publicly claim a mate-long term or short-but it was a claim recognized by all mers who heard it. It was their duty to spread the announcement to the remainder of the pod or any outside mers, provided of course, the mate in question accepted the cry. 

Which they would. It was not socially acceptable to refuse. 

Rung already wasn’t thinking clearly, with the hormonal cocktail raging inside his head. Add in the drugs and the general trauma of having his eggs removed from him again, and he’d latched onto Whirl as a possible defense. The fact that Whirl had responded cemented the two together. For the duration of hatching period, and until the carrier of the eggs felt the pups safe enough to travel outside the den, the mating tie would be in effect. 

Ratchet had explained this part f mer society before, in bits and pieces, to various staff members. He had thought they had come to understand his point. But every time he convinced one, they would come back later, having talked with a representative from the behavioral rehabilitation team, or an “expert” or whomever, convinced of all sorts of nonsense lies and fabrications. It was one of those things Ratchet had just assumed he’d always be working against, a kind of damage he thought himself--and the other wild mers--could minimize when it came to those being rehabilitated, but seeing all the different excuses for this incident; all the misinformation, all the weird little things different humans believed, pile into one, giant fuck up--well.

They were all meeting like this for a reason. 

Springer wasn’t quite capable of hiding the pinched look on his face during this explanation. Neither could the blonde haired women next to him-- Arcee. The third man fared a bit better, but only because he was absorbed in reading the number of notepads stacked on his lap.

His name was Red Alert, and he’d been one of the top security experts in Korea before moving to America. 

Backing Ratchet up on the Mer side of things was Rewind, and, to the surprise of most everyone in the room, Rodimus.  

Ratchet wasn’t dumb. He grumbled heartily about Rodimus taking over the Autopod as it’s leader, but he’d followed anyway, and though he found Rodimus himself to be useless in this kind of situation the message was clear. 

He’d been brought in because the fuck up was  _ that big.  _

“Whirl isn’t a mer though,” Arcee said, clearly angry about having to discuss this again. They all were. “and the eggs aren’t real. There isn’t going to be a hatching period because they aren’t going to hatch.” 

It was Ratchet’s turn to look pinched. “Mate-ties are different for mers.” He said, drawing on the few remaining straws of his temper. “We don’t treat mates as you do. We recognize the social compatibility of species, and welcome a protector as a mate even if they were not the sire of the eggs. The carrier gets to choose who defends and provides for them and being chosen as a mate, even for a short time, is an honor.” 

“We use fake-eggs as a therapeutic tool.” Rewind continued, trying to redirect some of the questions back to him before the medic lost it. “Part of the reason they are given to mers who’ve lost young is because physically, they aren’t ready to accept the loss.” Nevermind mentally or emotionally. “Creating pups puts a lot of strain on the body. It’s a lot of prep work, and it doesn’t go away just because the eggs did. If the process isn’t seen through to the end, if the carrier doesn’t get a resolution to all that preparation, they get stuck there.”  

“If they are treating the fakes the same way as real eggs, then they’re losing two sets of them, one after the other. I’ve been told studies have been finding that that’s worse?” Arcee arched an eyebrow, look challenging. Rewind laid a hand on Ratchet's arm before he could tear into her. 

“No. Having Rung accept it on his own allows him to come to term with his loss and let go at his own pace, as well as the pace his body allows. The false egg wasn’t an idea humans came up with-it’s a long tradition of ours. We  _ know  _ it works.”  Which was a discussion that the mers had gone through  twice already. Wanting to move past it before the same arguments could be said again, Rewind added; “What  _ is _ damaging is removing Whirl.”

“You keep saying that.” Springer said, keeping his voice even. “You aren’t explaining why.” 

Ratchet growled at him. That got a startled look from all three humans-Red Alert pausing his note-taking to observe the threat.

“Yes, I have, you mindless _ idiot. _ Rung claimed Whirl as his mate and Whirl accepted. Whirl is now needed, to watch over the eggs!”

“The fake eggs.” Arcee’s foot tapped the floor. “That won’t hatch. That you  _ think  _ will work.” 

“But even if we agree on the eggs, why can’t Rung choose a different mate? A Mer behaviorist, or hell even a less dangerous parolee.” Springer asked. His voice was muffled, his hand having found it’s way up to palm his face. 

If Ratchet had hair he would’ve torn it out. “It doesn’t work like that!” 

Red Alert eyed the frustrated mer. He glanced at Rodimus, who was doodling on his own notepad, then over to Rewind.

The smaller mer gave him a wane smile, then a thumbs up when no one was looking.

_ No threat then. Only posturing.  _ Red Alert decided. He went back to his own notes. 

“Then _ tell me _ how it works!” Springer growled back, clearly at the end of his own rope. Ratchet’s fins rose at the sound, eyes narrowing. Springer straightened his shoulders, unwilling to back down. “Because what I’m hearing is that you want Whirl, who stole facility property, sabotaged a carefully planned treatment process, and sent three different people to the hospital, nevermind the mer lives he endangered from this stunt, purely because it makes things easier. If Rung’s going to get over the eggs eventually, it sounds like it would be better to separate them anyway. Whirl is  _ trouble, _ Ratchet. I won’t have him here when he’s needlessly endangering lives!” 

“Except not having him here’s endangering lives too.” Rodimus said, distractedly. 

He looked up from his doodles when no one spoke. “What?!” He said defensively, realizing all eyes were on him.

“How does Whirl leaving endanger lives?” Springer wasn’t spitting. He wasn’t, and no one could tell him otherwise. 

Rodimus was unaffected. “Springer buddy, I like you, but you’re not getting it.” He started, then bulldozed right through the cry of _ “I know!” _ that burst out of the human. “Rung doesn’t trust humans. Humans took his eggs. A group which now includes all the humans who took his eggs  _ here.  _ He doesn’t think he’s safe. He doesn’t think he can trust anyone and worse, he thinks  _ you’re _ all out to get him. So his options are to escape,” Rodimus held up a finger. “Or to die.” He held up another one. “And take his eggs with him, so you can’t have them. What he needs,” Rodimus held up his other hand, abandoning the doodle pad, “is Whirl, his mate,” He ticked up a finger on this hand, “to tell him he’s fine, he’s safe, Whirl’s gotten rid of the danger. He won’t believe anyone else. Right now, for all Rung knows, Whirl got killed defending his eggs, and the humans who killed him are going to be back any minute to finish the job. He won’t believe otherwise until Whirl is with him.” Rodimus crashed his two hands together, then dropped them. “Kapeesh?”

“You’re _ kidding. _ ” Disbelief ran through Arcee’s voice, but more than that was fear. If what Rodimus said was true…

Ratchet recognized the emotion, twisted it to his advantage. “Rung won’t eat any fish that Whirl hasn’t cleared and  _ yes, _ that does include fish I give him. He won’t let me treat his arm-which your people strained, if not fractured. He think’s he’s under attack and he won’t recover unless Whirl gets his ass back here and tells him otherwise. My pod-leader is correct. Rung will  _ die _ ” He enunciated the word, staring Springer dead in the eyes, “If you do not get Whirl back here. Now.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me this from the start?!” Springer protested, as the implications of a mer dying-from their direct actions-flew threw his mind. “We wasted days arguing about this!” 

“I did, you people weren’t listening!” Ratchet snarled back. Rewind wormed his way around medic, pressing into him as a form of comfort. 

“It doesn’t matter.” The smaller mer said. “What’s important is that we get Whirl to Rung.”

Red Alert’s finger’s paused, head coming up once more. 

Springer lunged to his feet, but remained where he was, seemingly unsure of what to do with himself. 

“You’re certain Whirl is needed for Rung’s survival. Whirl,  _ specifically. _ ” Arcee’s voice faltered slightly, her face turning to look questioningly at Springer’s instead of the mer’s.

Rewind frowned-because she was asking one question to them, and another entirely to her boss. 

“Yes.” Ratchet said, and the same time Springer shook his head.

Rewind panned his head over to Red Alert’s still form. 

“Well?” Rodimus said, stretching his arms above his head. “What’s the hold up? Go get him so we can go.” He eased his arms down, grumbling as he did so, but no one in the room heard him. 

Ratchet stiffened next to him and Rewind realized he, too, knew something was wrong.

“Springer.” Ratchet’s voice was deadly soft, the kind that Rewind wouldn’t wish his worst enemies to hear. “What’s wrong?”

Springer winced. He took a step, stopped, and then paced a few feet in the opposite direction. “I need to make a phone call. I need to make a few phone calls.” He shot a look at Arcee, prompting the women out of her chair. “You too.” 

“To who?” Ratchet’s fins flexed down, then back up, as he consciously tried to calm himself. 

The humans wouldn’t look at him.

“Springer.” Ratchet demanded again, but the human already had a phone to his ear, turning his back to them.

Ratchet tensed. Rewind nudged him before he did something dumb, then used the distraction to attack the weakest link. 

“Red,” he said, and remained proud of himself that his voice stayed within its normal tone, “where’s Whirl?” 

“He was removed from the facility three hours ago.” The human’s head ducked down, hunching in on himself. Rewind would feel bad-did, because Red Alert was pod, and just as damaged as some of the mers (not that he was sure the humans knew that) but he’d make it up to the security head later. 

“To go where?!” Ratchet barked. Red flinched, and Rewind nudged Ratchet again, hissing under his breath at the medic. There were lines with pod members, even human ones. 

Ratchet glanced down, then away-but his fins lowered slightly. 

“Airport.” Red Alert answered grimly. “He’s going back to prison.” 

Ratchet roared. “Well get him back here!”  Rewind would have fully corrected him that time, but Ratchet had turned, directed his anger out on the other humans present. 

Neither Arcee nor Springer responded, phones up to their ears, unreadable looks on their faces. 

“We’re gonna try, Ratch.” Springer said, finally, as he hung up one call and dialed another. “I promise.”

“You’d better deliver on that promise,” Ratchet threatened. “Or our pod is going to get a new name.” 

Thus cutting ties with the Lost Light facility-and causing a media backlash not even Starscream could conjure up. 

Springer just nodded. 

Ratchet glared at him in disgust for a moment longer, before apparently realizing his time was wasted by listening to repeated phone conversations. He dove backwards, sinking into the tank that took up half the main office. Rewind followed, but only after clicking at Red Alert, drawing a small, if quivering smile, from the human. 

Only Rodimus remained, sprawled out on a rock.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be.” Snapped Arcee, after her fourth dail. Rodimus shrugged his shoulders at her.

“Nah. You guys are  _ much  _ more fun.” 

xXx

It had been a long few weeks.

The conference Ultra Magnus attended had focused on new tech in private security. He’d enjoyed it. 

What he had  _ not _ enjoyed, was being called away at an ungodly hour to go appease whatever shark-like lawyer Starscream had stepped on this time. Despite numerous warnings, the Cybertron Companies co-owner had the worst habit of treating laws like suggestions. Consequently, he had a habit of being in a fair amount of legal trouble. He’d done a good job of skirting it all at this point-- even if one such occasion had called for a rather large out of court settlement-- but he’d remained in the clear.  He had his own team of lawyers of course to thank for this (glassy-eyed, lanky things, with dead smiles and an air of bloodthirst that rivaled any mer. Starscream called them vehicons. Magnus was too afraid of the answer to ask why.) but Magnus was the ultimate gun, called in only when there was  _ real  _ trouble. 

It was, unfortunately, a part of their deal. 

Ultra Magnus was world renowned for his legal career. His fairness had made him famous-alongside his dedication to the laws and evidence above all else. No one could put emotions aside like Magnus could. He was who you called when you really didn’t know who had done it. The bulky man had more than one historic court case under his belt before he’d been selected as a Supreme Court Judge. 

It was a shock to everyone when he’d retired at the height of his career. A shock to him as well-- he was used to having the power of a judge. He had more than one anxiety attack about his replacement not ruling as fairly as he had, not giving everyone a chance as was due under law. Not knowing the every rule and regulation, even the ones regularly overlooked…

Anxieties hadn’t stopped him though. Just as it hadn’t stopped the yearning, to do what he truly wanted to. To help people like he wanted to. 

To help both victims _ and _ criminals. 

How many had been put away due to unjust drug charges, simply to put money in the prison systems? How many people had landed in the positions they had because society itself had given them no other option, had refused them the life skills handed to those simply born with more money? How many truly shouldn’t be there to begin with? How many had been sentenced based on prejudice, rather than evidence?

Thousands. More than thousands. Entire prisons full of people. Magnus could see them sometimes, screaming, inside his head. Demanding they be given a a re-do, a fair shot at life. Their own choices had certainly helped them get where they were, absolutely, but how many of those choices had been coerced? Uninformed? Unwilling? How many would have been made if they had been given love, support, opportunities, care? 

Magnus was no fool. Actions were symptoms. How much violence would end if that equal opportunity was given?  How many lives would be saved? How many people would truly be in prison? 

It was a never-ending cycle. Biting, chasing thoughts circled about his head and by the time Starscream’s original court case had rolled around, the biggest of the decade, Magnus’s weariness showed on his face. 

And Starscream saw it. 

Magnus hadn’t been manipulated. He had been fair in that trial. In  _ all  _ of the trials involving the Decepticon Brand. It had drained him to do so, though. To see innocent, intelligent mers beaten and bred into killers. To see humans coerced and forced to do the very same things. 

It’d been a living nightmare and Magnus had to see every single bit of evidence presented. Had to preside over the tiny details, down to the very last dollar owed. 

Had to let some of the guilty party  _ go free.  _

Legally and justly, Magnus could not jail them. Lack of evidence. Lack of conviction. Because the jury found them not-guilty. Because by law, they  _ weren’t _ guilty. 

All he had was an instinctual feeling in his gut. That these people were involved-these people were evil. The judge had never felt that way about anyone else-before or after. That these defendants weren’t just guilty-but that they’d go out and re-offend. They’d smile the very same on at him as they did at the people-human and mer-they murdered. Cold-blooded, just like that. No regrets. 

Justice didn’t care about any of that though. 

Convictions weren’t won with  _ feelings _ .The law was clear. Innocent until proven guilty, and those who walked away had not been proven guilty.

It was _ revolting _ to let them go. 

No one had blamed Magnus when he quit. Rumors abounded that he was appeasing his guilt when he’d accepted the job Starscream had offered him, to help take over and rebrand the Decepticons into the Cybertron Company, but those rumors were spoken with a pitying glance and a followed whisper of “Wouldn’t, you, if you did what he had to?” 

The media was a bit wilder about it. Meaner. But they always were. Magnus had long learned to ignore them. 

He had no ties. Not since taking the mantle of Ultra Magnus-and if he was honest with himself, not since long before that moment, either. Magnus was flawless-and the man he’d been, a man named Minimus, was not. Minimus cut ties with his family for telling him he couldn’t do what he had. For telling him to choose a better path-- a  _ realistic _ path. Minimus despised his brother, for succeeding and leading the way, in everything he tried his hands at and downright hated him for disappearing like he did. On some far off continent, off discovering God-knew what.

Minimus hoped he died. Wanted to spit on his grave.

Magnus mourned him, and wished above all odds that a lawful man returned alive. 

Magnus was stronger than Minimus. 

It was a time honored tradition. Each member of the Supreme Court had a name they took, the name of the person who had originally made up the Court. It felt like blasphemy to keep the name when he’d stepped down, but his successors and colleges had insisted. 

He was the Magnus, in their eyes. He always would be. 

Magnus had inspired others to follow the laws as closely as he had, to overturn them even, when they were used unjustly. He deserved the title more than anyone, and they refused to take it back. Magnus had been forced to accept it, when his successor broke tradition and refused the title. 

“I will not take it until the current Magnus dies.” The women said, to a standing ovation that had caused a heavily embarrassed Magnus to cough to hide his blush. “I wish him well in his new life, working to rehabilitate people-of all species. May those whose lives you touch deserve it.” 

Far too corny, but it nailed down what he wanted to do. What Starscream had offered. 

The biggest cause of repeat offenders was the lack of support. Magnus knew that. Everyone in law knew that. Lack of support led to gangs, and the mafia. Lack of education led to those who could not raise themselves above poverty and the mark of a felony, even in one related in non-violent drug charges, barred doors for life. The system was set up to fail. 

Starscream had offered him the chance of the lifetime. To change the lives of those at-risk. To truly do good. 

The program had it’s up and down’s, but the Lost Light rehabilitation center was Ultra Magnus’s pride and joy. Every mer they helped, every human who succeeded, every step towards success each other species took-- it felt like he was actually making a difference. Making a difference where it mattered, instead of fighting with other judges, lawyers, to reside over laws that would be challenged, changed or overturned within the next century, with the next set of judges. 

Of course the job had come with a price. 

A price Magnus had just paid, for almost three weeks. In a row.

With Starscream. 

He was no longer allowed to practice law but having him as a legal consultant was enough to make even the baddest lawyer blink twice. Starscream’s life revolved around private meetings, secret documents and under the table deals, and his legal issues didn’t differ any. Starscream moved for out of court talks long before the word ‘court’ was even mentioned, and had enough of brain to know who he’d need for what issue.

This last one? Had been a rather large “issue.” 

They’d “won” of course. By Starscream’s definition at least. No one went to court, and no one had to transfer large amounts of “sorry” money. 

Magnus still ran him through the ringer for the mess. He had a capable staff at the rehab center, but handling mers and convicts required a careful touch. He trusted Springer-liked him even-but the kid didn’t have as much experience as Magnus would have liked. 

He trusted him to learn, though. 

He also trusted him to keep the rehab facility in order for a few more days, because Magnus had taken the first plane back, in a rush to get away from the Cybertron Companies preening CEO.

Starscream was infuriating on a good day, but Magnus could not stand him when he won.

The plane of course had been a red eye. The flight was over eight hours long, contained a crying child and involved Magnus being constantly jostled as he was ever so slightly too big for his seat. 

He wasn’t fat, it was his muscles. They were just hiding under a somewhat soft cover. A cover that disagreed with the chair’s inflexible, metal arms. 

This is how he arrived at the Portland airport. Exhausted, disheveled, with a pounding migraine and a desperate need to do nothing more than get a start on all the paperwork he was behind on. 

He walked through the airport, dragging a hand through his hair. He went through his post-flight ritual as he lumbered to the baggage claim. Checked that he had his wallet. Checked that he had all his bags. Turned his phone, pager and work phone back on. 

Waited to see how many messages both would have.

One phone buzzed. Then the other. Then they both buzzed and Magnus came to a slow stop as he stared at his electronics.

83 missed calls. 35 missed text messages. His pager had been rung 156 times. 

He went through them, dread clawing into him with each new name that appeared. 

Springer had called. Ratchet. Kup, Blurr, Drift, Cyclonus,  _ Windblade _ , and then Springer again.

Springer again for almost 25 calls.

“What. Did. You. Do.” Magnus breathed, his fingers fumbling to call his manager back without his consent. He heard the dial tone ring, pressed his phone against his ear.

“Magnus?” A relieved voice told him more than he wanted to know, and the jet lag, long flight and headache was gone in seconds as Magnus drew on the strength of his title. 

“What happened.” He demanded, command lacing his voice. 

“I messed up.” Springer said, and then told him how. 

“...Whirl should be headed to the airport now, if he hasn’t arrived already.” Springer finished, panic making his voice high. “I sent Drift and Blurr after him, and called everyone I knew but no one’s picking up their phones. My last bet was you, I didn’t know when your plane landed or if you had a lay-over, but-”

“I’ll get him.” Magnus said. He hadn’t said much, too busy trying to hold his temper and get his suitcase all at once. “I’ll bring him back.” 

“Thanks.” Springer said.

Magnus debated not responding. Debating hanging up the phone, and then throwing it on the ground. Maybe stomping on it for good measure.

That was something Minimus would do, he reminded himself. Not Magnus. Not _ the _ Ultra Magnus. 

“We will be back soon.” He said, which was nice and diplomatic. “Then you and I will talk.” Which, well, wasn’t either of those things, but it was something.

He had to conceded to his temper just a little bit, if he was going to be stuck in a car with  _ Whirl.  _  
  
  


xXx

Whirl was handcuffed to a bench, jiggling one leg impatiently. Magnus took a minute to look over him. Still young-young enough that Magnus couldn’t place his age without his papers, only that he was legal to drink. He was muscular, in the way men in prisons often were-a natural way that said their muscles were built to keep them alive, not look pretty. His hair was still blue -Magnus still couldn’t remember who had approved _ that _ -and he wore ripped jeans with a faded graphic shirt that loudly announced “ _ Goonies Never Die, in Astoria!” _ His backpack, prison issued, rested against the bench. 

Whirl’s head was thrown back, both eyes closed. He had the holes for earrings, at least four in one ear, but had never been allowed to wear them since his incarnation. Magnus wouldn’t be surprised if they were spikey things instead of studs.

Whirl looked like someone who wore a lot of jewelry with spikes and chains.

He started over.

“Sir?” One of the TSA agents asked. Magnus gave him his wallet without bothering to wait to be asked. He’d already given it to four others. The women looked it over, then waved him through. 

“Whirl.” He called. The convict’s eyes popped open, head coming up to pinpoint Magnus. 

He had a black eye, and purple-green bruising poking up under the right side of his collar.

Sonovabitch.

“Mags?’ He asked and he sounded normal, if a little confused. A flicker of-something-passed over his face, the emotions closing off. “Come to see me off? Or do you just want to read me the riot act in person?” His body had tensed further, the leg no longer jigglng.

If he wasn’t careful, Magnus wouldn’t get through to him at all-and he needed to, if what Ratchet had said was true. 

Important things first. “Have you spoken to a lawyer?” Was the first thing out of his mouth.

Whirl, mouth open to no doubt say something in hopes of prodding a reaction, blinked. “A-what?” 

“I’ll take that as a no.” Magnus swept as close as he dared, following the lines of bruising. Multiple scratches to Whirl’s arm, a few bandaids, an odd device clamped on to two of the convict’s fingers and that all combined to make Magnus’s next question. “Have you been seen by a proper medic?” 

“Depends, does ‘Aid count?” Whirl was trying to snark. Really he was. He was just a little confused at not getting the verbal lashing of a lifetime. 

“No.” Magnus deadpanned. “He does not.” 

Which was neither right nor wrong, as Aid was technically one of their head doctors. He however was not an emergency doctor and Magnus had a sinking feeling that Whirl had not been taken to a hospital. His wounds did not appear to be life threatening, but protocol should have been followed no matter what, particularly considering Whirl’s prosthetics. 

Magnus’s frown deepend.

“What’s goin’ on?” Whirl asked slowly, inching back a bit at the look on Magnus’s face. The former judge noted the reaction and shook himself out of it. 

No doubt Springer had a good reason for doing what he did. Or rather, he’d  _ better  _ have a good reason for what he’d done. Magnus had every intention of making him present a defense, and only one that could stand up to a former judge would suffice. 

“It appears, a rather large number of mistakes have been made.” Magnus started, as one of the guards finally appeared with the keys to Whirl’s handcuffs. “Apologies are in order.”

Whirl’s look darkened. “I’m not apologizing for shit.”  

Magnus rubbed his head, trying to focus around the pain as Whirl was uncuffed. “You don’t have to, Whirl.” He said calmly. “It appears I-along with a few unmentioned others-need to apologize to you.” 

Whirl froze at that, staring at Magnus as though he’d lost his mind.

xXx

“Can I change the radio?” Whirl asked, hand already reaching for it.

“No.” Magnus deadpanned.

“Can we at least turn ON the radio?” Whirl whined, fingers just barely touching a button.

“No.”   


“Ugh!” Whirl dramatically threw himself back against the car seat, crossing his arms. “ _ Fine, _ you killjoy!” He huffed, blowing a piece of his bangs out of his face. 

Silence reigned.

Magnus enjoyed it for the few seconds it lasted.

“Are you at least going to tell me what this is about? And don’t say it’s ‘cause of the fight, that’s bullshit.” 

It’s dangerous to close your eyes while driving. Magnus felt bad about doing it, but it was just for a blink-maybe a little longer. Something to draw in his patience. That’s all he needed. A little patience. A little patience on a very long car-drive, God help him. 

_ “Maaaags!”  _ The whine was accompanied by a prod, and not from one of Whirl’s real fingers. 

_ ‘If what Ratchet and Windblade said was true-and you know it is-you’re going to need him to be informed.’ _ Whispered the rational part of his mind. Magnus winced, knowing he’d bow to it-as he always did. It was the core of his being, after all. 

_ ‘Whirl might have a lot of questions.’ _ It prodded him perfectly in time with Whirl’s own jabs and with a sigh that heaved his whole frame, Magnus broke his resolve. 

“It’s Rung.” He said.

He knew he had Whirl’s undivided attention when the convict sat up and swore. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where getting kinda close to where my chapters stop being coherent and start being a bunch of plot pieces that aren't tied together. Updates past- maybe two more?- are likely to become super wonky because of it, but I'll try my best to stick to--something, of a schedule.
> 
> Warnings: Much like Storm Rolling In this one has a plethora of warnings! Mentions of rape, torture, slavery (unwilling/forced) BDSM, fights to the death, PTSD, scars, kidnapping, invasive medical procedures, complete lack of consent, blood, gore, child slavery/kidnapping, body horror, fake pregnancy, eggs/pregnancy/egg laying, oviposition, significant mental/emotional trauma, Xeno (?? - I lean more towards Xeno with the human/mer fish thing, over anything else) annnd I honestly will have to go back and read everything lol. It's got a very similiar tone to Storm Rolling In.

 

* * *

 

_ “Shit,  _ Rung _. _ What’d they do to you?” Whirl said it quietly, watching the mess of a mer clinging to Ratchet’s side. The two way mirror he looked through was cleverly designed as a reflective strip of rock, camouflaging it from any mer not in the know. It was used so humans could observe injuries and pregnancies without fear of frightening or upsetting the mers observed, the information gathered given right back to mers like Ratchet. Per the agreement with the Lost Light Pod, mers never spent more than a few hours in it, and absolutely did not sleep in it. It was simply a “healing place” for them, a place they could relax away from the rest of the mers. 

The tanks, Perceptor had explained as he’d led Whirl to this room, could be adjusted. Pathways open and closed. Ratchet wanted Rung in one of the specialized rooms, and to do so the pathways had been arranged to provide access. The newly created pathway brought them through the room he saw here, for one of two purposes.

It allowed Ratchet and Rung to be shut off from every other mer, while Rung safely moved into the “new” tank. And it let Whirl see him.

“I’m afraid you can’t take much time-Ratchet struggled to get Rung to even consider the move.” Perceptor spoke quickly, hands clasped behind his back. He stood several paces away from Whirl, looking through the tank at the two mers himself. “It was agreed that seeing Rung would better... show you how hard this will be, than anything else would.”

_ No kidding. _ Whirl thought, watching the small mer clutch his eggs to his chest. He’d been losing weight again. The area around his eyes had paled to a near white, along with parts of his back and underside-- a sign of high stress. His head darted this way and that, the paranoia making him shake slightly. 

Whirl couldn’t stand to look at him like this. Not for another minute. Not when he could do something. 

“Open the other pathway. I’ll met them in the new room,” he said.

“Are you certain?” Perceptor had hesitated--had been hesitating, overly careful since Whirl had gotten back. No doubt he remembered the fight--Whirl didn’t think he’d hit the scientist, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he had. “It’s a big decision, Whirl. If Rung sees you that’s it. He won’t survive it if you decide to leave.” 

“He’s not surviving very well with me gone right now, is he?” Whirl snapped back, pleased when the scientist flinched. “I wouldn’t have left him if it weren’t for you lot. What’s happened to him is on your heads. I’m just here to fix your fuckup.” Harsh, and more than Percy deserved to hear. He didn’t care. 

Whirl wasn’t in the mood to play nice. Not when his fingers still throbbed. 

Not when Rung looked so panicked.

He strode from the room, waiting for the scientist to catch up only when he realized he didn’t know where he was going. Determination clenched his teeth, but it also held his temper. He couldn’t-wouldn’t freak out. Wouldn’t fight.

He had a mer to take care of, and he’d be damned if anyone got between Rung and his eggs again.  

Ratchet’s instructions still rang in his ears --the medic had made sure Whirl had gotten a crash course on mate behavior and what he might be expected to do before he’d even been allowed to think about reuniting with Rung. Never mind the endless meetings he’d endured with Mags and a few other mers. 

He got it though. Rung was in a fragile state. His mental health wasn’t that great to begin with, and this whole mess had thrown his progress back a whole bunch of steps. They all didn’t quite know how he was going to react to Whirl, but money was on the mer accepting him as his “brood’s” guardian, and once Whirl took that role, there was no backing out. 

_ ‘Technically you’ve already agreed to be his mate when you answered his call.’ Ratchet had explained, after kicking everyone else out of the last, hurried meeting, claiming he needed to speak to Whirl alone. ‘Since he’s been asking after you and is refusing to let anyone-including me-close to him, I’m not all that concerned about him taking offense to you acting in the role of mate.’ He continued before Whirl could speak, going on to list the main things that would be expected. _

Whirl had been wise enough to shut up and let him talk.

Providing and protecting are the main things. Was the summary of the explanation, which was in line with what Whirl knew. He’d be expected to provide food--and could use the time he was “hunting” for it to meet with a variety of mers and humans who were working to ensure Rung was medically and mentally sound, until he got to a point where his hormones and general instincts weren’t overruling all base forms of thought. What he hadn’t expected was;    


_ “Lot’s of physical contact. How much is up to Rung. Considering how stressed he’s been my guess is that he will want a lot of it. Mers are social creatures like humans--they are very sensitive to being touched and require it to function properly in the same way you do.  We do focus on it more than your specific culture seems to allow.”  _

Which Whirl also knew-mers were very touchy. He just didn’t think that meant Rung was going to want to touch  _ him. _

_ “We will check up with you daily, and will have weekly reports on Rung’s status. I can’t say how long he’s been set back for, or how long he will take to mentally come to terms with the eggs being fake. You could end up being his mate for two months or two years.”  _

_ “The hormones won’t affect him for that long-we expect another week or two at most, and only that long due to his strong reaction to the eggs and the act of being forced away from them. He will be back to normal at that point-how long he takes to heal mentally is a different matter. He may not want anything to do with you when he comes back to himself a little more.”  Ratchet’s tone of voice indicating he thought that was exactly what was going to happen. _

Whirl kept it all in mind as Percy finally came to a halt in front of a thick door. Rung could reject him. Rung could accept him. Rung could temporarily accept him and then reject him. 

Whatever. It didn’t matter. Whirl wasn’t the kind to fret and he wasn’t about to start now. This wasn’t about him, it was about Rung, and unlike all the other idiot humans, he wasn’t going to stomp all over the mers life.

He took a breathe, adjusted the single strap of his backpack hanging off one shoulder. Steadied himself.

Opened the door.

The room was slightly larger than Rung’s prior “room”-and had a pool rather than the lid of a tank. Wood turned into concrete, gently sloping down into the water so mers had easy access getting in and out. A metal bed with a thin mattress, the moveable kind, stood in one corner of the wood half of the room, along with a few shelves built into the walls. 

Access, rather than privacy, was a priority here. 

“Rung?” Whirl called, announcing himself as he walked into the room slowly. “Rung-it’s me. Uh, Whirl.”

Everything remained quiet, the top of the pool undisturbed. Whirl kept an eye on the water, lapping gentle at the edges of the concrete as he walked over the bed. He placed his bag there, unsurprised to see the shelves already had a few items on them. Mostly wet suits in his size-but a few food items, water, towels. The basics. 

Whirl kicked his shoes off, careless of where they fell, eyes on the pool.

“Go away, Perce. And close the door behind you.” He called. The scientist frowned at the nickname (not, Whirl had found, that he liked ‘Perceptor’ any better.) but obeyed, leaving his position where he had been hovering right at the door, and closing it behind him as he left. 

Rung wouldn’t show up with him there.

Whirl took his shirt off next, throwing it onto the bed. He’d been assured this room didn’t have any mirrors, and he and Ratchet both had insisted on the removal of all cameras. If Whirl was gonna be sleeping there he’d do it without being watched, thanks. 

He could have put on a wet-suit, but didn’t care for the struggle. Instead he waded into the water, jeans and all. The pool continued to slope downwards-he’d been told there was a shelf about waist deep, that didn’t drop off until about halfway in the tank.

Whirl didn’t make it that far.

He kept his arms at his sides, trying to look non-threatening, and had called out to Rung again when the water moved. He hadn’t had time to say much else, because Rung’s head shot out of the water, the mer rushing towards Whirl. 

_ ‘Oh shit. _ ’ Whirl thought, realizing Rung wasn’t going to stop, all of Ratchet’s assumptions were wrong and too shocked to do much about it.  _ ‘He’s gonna kill me.’  _

Rung barreled dead into him. Whirl was thrown back with a loud  _ “Oof!” _ , hands wrapping around Rung’s shoulder’s automatically. 

He didn’t tear into him though-or claw at him, or screech. Instead he wrapped his arms around Whirl’s neck, nuzzling and chattering at him in mer. They’d been both knocked back far enough that Whirl’s head remained above water, even though his ass touched the concrete. He remained still, unsure of what Rung was doing until the mer pulled back and started examining him. 

It took a moment still, even then, to realize Rung was looking at his injuries. 

“I’m alright.” He said softly, raising his arms so Rung could see. “Just a few scratches. Nothin’ I can’t handle.” 

It took awhile for the words to register but when it did, Rung gave him a flat look. He gently grabbed onto an arm to pull closer to his face, going back to his examination. A chiding noise rose in his throat.

“Can’t catch a break with you either huh?” Whirl chuckled. Ratchet had done something similar, though not as intensely as Rung was. Maybe it was a mer thing. 

A sad noise was made when a webbed hand touched his eye, and a questioning one when he encountered the thing they’d put on his fingers to keep the broken one straight. 

Of course, they’d had to tape it next to one of his fake ones so who even know how that was gonna turn out. The weird thing was that Rung didn’t care about his false fingers--or even noticed them, really. Which well, was a first for Whirl. Usually he got four million stupid questions about them, starting with ‘How did you lose them?’ and ending with ‘Show me how you pick things up!’ Having someone gloss over it was...nice. 

He sat still until Rung was satisfied. It didn’t take too long, even with Rung being thorough. Whirl gave him some time beyond that to adjust to him, careful with how he moved, careful where he touched. Rung didn’t shy away-if anything he arched into the contact. Which made the convict pleased, because it meant he could look over the mer’s own injuries.

“Lemme see yours.” Whirl spoke softly, keeping his eyes down, and his body language soft. Ratchet had done some coaching, and he followed the medic’s letter to a T. He started by stroking Rung’s back, just as he had been, and slowly deviated off the path with each pass. Rung lay compliant on his lap, surrendering himself almost immediately. There were a couple of rips and tears in his side-they had patches on them, but they were poorly applied. Ratchet had claimed it was the best he could do with Rung as skittish as he was-- they would definitely need to be re-done. There was no blood on any of the bandages though, and so Whirl left it for later. 

What he was truly working towards was Rung’s injured arm. There wasn’t anything he was gonna be able to do about it, not today anyway, but it was clear it was bugging Rung. The mer was holding it closely to his chest and hadn’t moved it much since he’d appeared. Whirl was almost afraid to touch it. He did though, lightly, carefully studying Rung’s face to catch when he winced.

Half way down his arm-- there. 

It was Whirl’s turn to make a chiding noise, moving his hand back up to the safe zone of Rung’s shoulder. The mer looked almost embarrassed for a moment, before avoiding Whirl’s gaze entirely by burying his head in Whirl’s neck. 

“Ratchet’s gonna haveta look at that soon.” Whirl said because Ratchet had thought Whirl encouraging it might make Rung give in and let Ratchet see his arm. 

Rung gave what might have been an answer, but sounded more like a grumbled whine to Whirl. The human smiled at it, the mers lips tickling his neck. 

Whirl relaxed, letting Rung cling to him, letting the mer take the pace. They weren’t going to do anything about that arm tonight--likely not for a few days either, until Rung calmed down more. Ratchet was certain Whirl’s presence would be keep Rung calm, but Whirl wasn’t sure. He was just along for the ride (and Rung’s general well-being.) He expected them to not move for a while-prepared mentally for mildly freezing his ass off in this water, in fact--when Rung abruptly pulled away.

Just as quickly as he had tackled Whirl, he left completely, slipping off and diving under water. 

The human didn’t move--didn’t exactly know what was going on but he had a guess. Things were going extremely well so far--like, best case scenario well. Ratchet should be ecstatic that Whirl was not only accepted as Rung’s mate but apparently allowed to put his hands on the mer. 

There was only one thing that could improve it, and Whirl waited patiently, half afraid if he moved he’d ruin the whole thing. 

It took a minute for Rung to return--and Whirl saw why when he surfaced. He reached forward automatically, going to take one of the eggs Rung had carefully balanced in one arm before thinking better of it. By then his hands were already out stretched--but Rung only sighed and deposited an egg in his hand. 

He was quick to return to Whirl’s lap, making sure the eggs were cuddled between his and Whirl’s chest before settling back down. A contented noise left his lips, his head returning to Whirl’s shoulder. 

The ex-con let him adjust, stilled back into fear of movement. Ratchet had drilled it into his brain that he may never be allowed to see the eggs let alone handle them, and here Rung had straight up deposited them (and himself) in Whirl’s lap. This all felt--stupid lucky. Unbelievably lucky. That Rung had accepted him, that Ratchet had defended him, that Magnus had made everyone  _ apologize. _

Sure, Whirl had had to apologize too (and been read the riot act and signed fuck knew how many documents about how he understood what he was getting into with Rung and getting prodded at by a human doctor again and just. A lot of legal shit.) 

It just all felt surreal. 

He wasn’t used to things taking a turn like this--for the better. Usually Whirl did something he thought was good and got punished for it. All of his own logic said the mate shit wasn’t going to work because hello, Rung was terrified of the humans here before they all decided to go reenact his worst fears and but Whirl didn’t exactly see how he might be seen differently than them. Put in a separate category.

Ratchet had sort of explained it, but at that point he’d explained a lot and Whirl’s brain was more focused on remembering the Rung bits than anything else. 

The mer seemed content where he was, speaking of and Whirl just cuddled him for a while, happy to give the mer a bit of peace. He wasn’t shaking or scared right now, or crying or clicking. He just was. And Whirl had done that, brought that peace. 

A weird amount of responsibility was sinking in while he sat there  Rung hadn’t even let other mers touch him, had been about as aggressive as he apparently had ever been. Hyper vigilant, barely sleeping, barely eating--and he was looked to be as on board as everything was hoping for, for Whirl to fix all that.

_ Whirl.  _

It was a weird train of thought, a weird mix of protectiveness and shock at how unrealistic this all was--Whirl was about as unwanted as anyone could be. Forgotten about until needed, even outside of prison, unless he was causing a problem. Which made this all just. Weirder. 

_ ‘How about we don’t go there? _ ’ He thought to himself, when things started to get to be a little too much. They’d been sitting for a while now, long enough for the human to start to get a touch uncomfortable and alright, it was time to see if Rung would sleep next to him. 

“Nice as this is, the water’s kinda cold.” He said quietly, to the mer starting to doze on his shoulder. “Why don’t we move this somewhere a little softer, eh?”

He adjusted Rung, waking the mer slightly while getting both arms under the mer and making sure one arm supported Rung’s back, around his “wings”. The mer seemed to know what Whirl was doing, as he gripped the eggs tighter to his chest. 

“Three, two,  _ one, _ ” Whirl counted down, then surged forward, rolling up onto his feet, holding Rung bridal-style in his arms. He turned, making his way to the bed and hoping Rung wouldn’t protest if they both laid down on it. 

He couldn’t help but notice as he went how light Rung was. Lighter than he was ever supposed to be.

Food was definitely going to have to be the first thing they fixed.

Thankfully it was probably also the easiest.

Whirl was gonna get his mer a fish, ASAP, the second he was able. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Much like Storm Rolling In this one has a plethora of warnings! Mentions of rape, torture, slavery (unwilling/forced) BDSM, fights to the death, PTSD, scars, kidnapping, invasive medical procedures, complete lack of consent, blood, gore, child slavery/kidnapping, body horror, fake pregnancy, eggs/pregnancy/egg laying, oviposition, significant mental/emotional trauma, Xeno (?? - I lean more towards Xeno with the human/mer fish thing, over anything else) annnd I honestly will have to go back and read everything lol. It's got a very similiar tone to Storm Rolling In.
> 
> Also mild spoilers for John Dies At The End, though considering there's three books in that series I feel like the spoiler is an obvious one lol.

* * *

 

“Rung’s sleeping next to him.”  Red Alert said, and a collective sigh went through the room, from both humans and mers a like.

They had been true to word, and removed all cameras and listening devices from the room. There weren’t any mirrors or anything of the sort either--but they did need some form of backup on the off chance Rung had rejected Whirl, or otherwise attacked him. Red Alert had said he’d take care of it without specifying how, and no one beyond Ratchet and Magnus had bothered questioning him considering he was adept at using both mer and human means. 

The observations were only to last for the first two days, before Rung and Whirl would truly be left alone, simply to insure the both of the were safe and thankfully, that’s exactly what appeared to be happening.

Springer looked relieved most of all. The blame for this mess had landed squarely on his shoulders, and Magnus had been clear with the repercussions of it had this gone poorly. The ex judge hadn’t cared that Whirl had slipped Rung a few eggs without informing anyone or asking for permission--(or rather, he had, and had his own private conversation with Whirl, but recognized that in the long run the act by itself was not malicious nor would it have done any kind of true harm seeing as Ratchet had learned fairly quickly that Rung had been given fake eggs and adjusted his mer interactions accordingly without issue) but he was disturbed by the actions from the humans involved. Oddly enough no one could pinpoint exactly whose idea it was to remove the eggs from Rung. Varying people involved brought up numerous points, most of them entirely false, and more than one half-assed assumption about Rung’s behavior that Ratchet openly mocked. Everything from Rung becoming more aggressive to pseudo science about it being “too late” to use the false egg therapy on the mer ran rampant. It ran rampant in the upper levels of multiple divisions. The worst part of all of it was the underlying issue that each department spoke off-the fact that Whirl had managed to get the eggs, had subverted treatment of a mer, and had directly caused what could be a huge issue. An issue that needed to be prevented, immediately, before other mers or funding sources found out about it. 

Which to Magnus, meant a number of things. Like the fact that many of the highly paid people he had on his staff were willing to completely ignore both safety procedures and staff directly under them simply to ensure a mistake was covered up. Such things were the beginning signs of corruption, of people hiding things from upper divisions and making side deals and Magnus didn’t like it one bit.

Procedure had not been followed. The decision to remove the eggs from Rung, even if they were causing all the problems his staff claimed they were, should have only become an option after a multitude of meetings between both human and mer staff. Rung himself should have been talked to, because he was an intelligent being and not an animal incapable of making decisions. Instead the mers had not been consulted, human staff had been overridden or threatened with the loss of their jobs if they had not followed through with their orders, and what was a simple issue of a convict going around rules to “help” (something entirely common, considering most of the parolee’s the program had had their own trusts problems with authority) had blown up into a near catastrophe. 

(Magnus personally, had known how truly close they had gotten to breaking ties to the Lost Light pod when  _ Rodimus _ was glad to see him. Of all the meetings he’d ever had with the Pod Leader, he’d never once been happy to see Magnus.) 

Springer was his manager. The person most of these higher ups and department leaders directly responded to and were managed by. In the rapid-fire interviews Magnus had conducted the moment he’d stepped out of the last of the emergency meetings, he’d seen all sorts of things come to light. 

People didn’t trust Springer. They criticized him for some of his methods of leadership, and felt he didn’t always allow for the safest way to do things. A number of them had brought up the Kup incident and while Magnus recalled the entire thing with the elder mer being a reminder of the dangers of rehabilitation, he hadn’t realized how far back that had put everyone’s trust in Springer personally. 

He kicked himself for not thinking of it. Kup had ended up a success, but people under Springer had been hurt because of it. That wasn’t the kind of thing people shook off. 

Magnus could see how that incident, and some of Springer’s further interactions with encouraging both more hands on methods and his steam-rolling over some of the concerns, could lead to people working around him rather than with him. 

Which was the dynamite this particular fire had laid on, really. 

People had accepted rumors from unknown sources and acted in secret because they felt they had too, to do the right thing. That had resulted in this mess, and  _ that  _ was what Magnus blamed Springer for. 

Which was not to say what Whirl had done was a mistake easy to overlook because it wasn’t--but that he’d done his research and was, technically, correct in his thinking that Rung was both overlooked and needed further treatment. 

There was a lot to learn from this. Enough that Magnus was making everyone write up reports of every possible thing that could have been handled better, and was starting the beginnings of a complete overhaul to their entire system. (He’d been horrified to learn how ignored Rung’s files had been, once he’d requested them. Horrified to realize how easy it was to overlook a single mer with how many moved in and out of his faculty.) 

He caught Springer’s eye and gave the man a small nodd.

He’d keep his job, today. 

Time alone would tell if he was capable of holding onto it.

xXx

It was getting disturbingly easy to wake up with an armful of mer.

Day one had gone well, and day two even better, though Rung had been unhappy to let Whirl out of his sight for any length of time. By day six they had a routine started--Whirl discovered he could be away for a maximum of about an hour, twice or so a day without causing a serious amount of alarm and that Rung refused to surface for anything if Whirl was out of the room. 

Other mers were also absolutely Not Welcome unless Whirl was there. Ratchet was putting off his medical examination until Rung had calmed down more. Instead he was using the meeting times scheduled while Whirl was out “hunting for food” to instruct him through some basic care. 

Which made Whirl extremely nervous, but was easy enough that even he felt like a moron couldn’t fuck it up. (It helped that Rung really did need some basic care at the very least, and was highly averse to literally anyone else but Whirl.) 

Rung would only take food from Whirl’s hands, would only leave his eggs for any period of time if Whirl was physically holding them (which had been once, to fetch a comb that Rung had then used to aggressively comb Whirl’s hair with, muttering in mer the entire time. Whirl, having bedhead at the time, had just laughed.) 

Meanwhile, the ex-con was learning all kinds of things about Rung. He was a sweets hound, his preferred spot was on Whirl’s lap, he apparently couldn’t see for shit (which was relatable, considering Whirl’s own fucked up vision) and was incredibly smart, even while in the midst of a hormone cocktail. The human got a sense that conversations with Rung could be fun when the mer was fully minded. 

Unfortunately, those were about the only non depressing things he’d learned. 

Rung’s wing-like fins often got in his way, though that didn’t stop him from laying on them in a way that  _ had _ to hurt. He was far more concerned about keeping the eggs between himself and Whirl though, and it took Whirl a few hours to work up the courage the first time to massage the base of the “wings.” 

His only means of defense seemed to be hiding, and if found while hidden, would shake in a way that made Whirl grit his teeth. He’d even done it to people he appeared to trust-- Whirl had been on the receiving end of this a few times when he’d accidentally startled the mer upon returning. Because of that, Whirl had returned to talking, loudly, whenever he entered the room, and no longer looked for Rung. Instead he went over to “their” bed, and let the mer come to him. 

Moving too fast caused Rung to freeze. Saying certain things seemed to trigger pretrained responses. Whirl hadn't stumbled anything too horrific yet but the few things he had, the responses Rung had given…

The implications sickened him.

Whirl wanted Rung’s history, the whole of it. Not the piss poor amount contained in the journal, which obviously didn’t even cover the half of what the mer had been through. As furious as he was about all that, part of him thought it was for the better.

Mers were _ intelligent. _ To have their records kept in a journal, to be locked up like animals...

Whirl knew all too well what that felt like.

If Rung wanted to give him his history, he would. In the same way Whirl would. (The weird thing there was that if Rung asked, truly asked, Whirl would tell him. All of it, all the things that had made Whirl himself, even the things he’d never spoken of. 

If Rung wanted it he could have it and that thought was….

Well. Whirl didn’t like to think about what it was. So he didn’t.) 

Rung did seem to be coming more in to himself with each day-- talking more, disjointed thoughts slowly dissolving into sentences that weren’t so distracted. Beyond retrieving food and doing his best to fix injuries, Whirl had taken up a few hobbies of his own, which included egg cleaning, egg rubbing and--late at night, when he was positive no one was anywhere near “their” room--reading stories aloud (to the eggs, of course.) Convicts at the LL compound weren’t allowed cellphones or electronic devices, unless using them to assist with something mer related, but Whirl’s situation had absolutely required one, and the smartphone he’d been issued was the same as any other. Basic internet settings, basic text and call abilities, basic ability to pirate novels and read them aloud. 

Which was what they were doing now. 

Rung liked books. Liked to be read to. Mostly because it was an activity that didn’t involve removing himself or his eggs out of Whirl’s lap. 

But also because Whirl asked questions. They weren’t the kind that demanded an answer, just loud rhetorical ones that popped out of the convicts mouth now and then. Half the time the questions were just a formality that allowed Whirl to complain about an inaccuracy. 

“Anne Rice has never stabbed a guy in her life,” Whirl said in the middle of one such a complaint. “This is just-- ugh, this is _ bad.  _ Why are we reading these again?” 

“Because there were vampires in them.” Rung answered sleepily. HIs head rested on Whirl’s shoulder, his eyes half shuttered. 

“Right! And those vampires were supposed to be horrifying! Not all weepy and weird.” Whirl was making faces at his phone, and Rung laughed softly, turning so his mouth was muffled by the convicts shirt. 

“Change the book then, I don’t believe it gets any better from here.”

“Yeah? You’ve read this shit then?” Whirl was mock-challenging, turning to side-eye his companion when it struck him all at once that he was talking to Rung.

Not talking.

Holding a conversation. 

It was the first time Rung had ever done that, had ever spoken more than a handful of words together. Did this mean he was coming out of it? Was he already out of it? Clearly not, seeing as he was still cuddled into Whirl but still. He was better.

It was exciting as it was horrifying, as Whirl had the sudden realization that he wasn’t ready for this to end. 

Rung felt him stiffen (of course he did, he was still hyper-alert to any of Whirl’s movements) and froze himself, mouth clicking closed from where it had been open to answer.

“Whirl?” He asked, voice soft--  _ scared- _ \- and Whirl forced himself to relax. Put a lopsided grin on his face. 

“I am sick of this fuckin awful plot. You care if I pick another book?” His voice was forcefully light, and he cursed himself for being so obvious in front of the mer. 

Rung remained tense for a moment, but slowly relaxed at Whirl’s bravado. 

“No,” Rung responded, and Whirl set immediately into the task of trying to use his fucked up fingers to navigate his phone. 

Whirl read the titles out loud, along with the plot synopsis. After a (significantly more single-sided debate, _ ‘Nice going Whirl’- _ -) they landed on  _ John Dies At The End.  _

“Sounds uplifting.” Whirl joked. The plot synopsis said it was comedy horror though, so he settled in. 

xXx

“What do you mean he  _ lives!? _ ” Whirl croaked, an odd number of hours later, after he and Rung both had gotten hooked on the story. 

“Makes sense,” Rung muttered and Whirl was absolutely astounded the mer was awake too. 

“I have questions. A lot. Of questions.” 

“Are they the same one you already asked?” Rung said, eyes closed and even through the sleep deprivation Whirl’s face broke into a grin.

“Did you just get  _ sarcastic  _ with me?” He asked, playfully jostling Rung to keep him awake. “You did! You were sarcastic with me! I am  _ so proud  _ of you, holy shit.” 

Rung had done the thing again where his whole body had tensed, but it relaxed abruptly, an odd sound, practically a purr coming out of his mouth at the praise. He melted back into Whirl’s shoulder, curling closer to the human.

Whirl blinked. 

Whirl thought.

He had known Rung liked praise, considering past responses it seemed to put the mer at ease, but a lot of it was more tone than anything. Rung clearly hadn’t been hearing, or listening, to Whirl’s words until just recently. 

This was something new. Something Whirl thought might be a better way to combat all the-- other things, Rung responded too. In a  _ bad  _ way. 

Whirl couldn’t take the past away. But he could make a better future. He could give all the compliments he could, so that Rung knew that if no one else on this planet cared, Whirl did.  

They both drifted to sleep easily; Rung feeling safe, Whirl thinking. 

Both happy.

xXx

Away from the facility, pulled away from the road as to not be seen, a car crouched in the darkness.

Inside it, it’s driver was involved in a strained, serious conversation. 

“I told you it was too risky to let him live.” He was saying, voice hushed despite the fact he was the only one in the car. He wasn’t a stranger to espionage, and was more than aware that what he was doing, even hidden as he was, was a risk. He was too close to the facility, too close to being potentially caught and questioned. 

They were also too close to having their entire _ operation _ discovered. To having that idiotic ex-judge discover what he missed the first time around, when they’d all managed to evade arrest. 

That he figured, warranted a phone call. 

“It wouldn’t have been if you followed me orders exactly.” A smooth voice snapped, clearly annoyed. “I can’t believe you let it get this far.”

“I followed your orders  _ exactly _ , and when it became clear it wasn’t enough I went beyond them. I even modified the convicts file! No one should trust him to be alone with anything, let alone one of the mers!” The driver was too well trained to hiss, but his frustration was clear in his voice. Things had somehow gone beyond him--gone beyond the careful confusion and chaos he’d sewn. 

Years worth of work was coming down around him, and that was enough to make even the hardest man think twice. 

A sigh burst through the phone’s speakers. “Pathetic. I trusted you to keep things going while I went over and fixed the absolute shit show that our breeding facilities have become. We are this close to getting our operation back 100%.” The voice lowered dramatically, into a furious hiss. “This. Close. I cannot afford anything to jeopardize that right now!” 

“I know that!” The driver growled. “Why do you think I’m calling you? I need you back here!”

_ "You _ do not need  _ me _ anywhere. You _ work for me.” _ Spat the caller. “But,” He continued, before the driver could respond, clearly restraining his anger. “I will come. I will fix what you clearly can’t. The earliest I can get there is two weeks from now. The least you can do is keep our heads above water until I arrive.”

“Fine.” The driver agreed, after a long, terse pause. “Fine.”

With a click, the line went dead.

The driver stared at it for a long time, wondering if the caller would follow through--or if he was on his own. If it was time to abandon the operation he’d built his life around. 

If he even could.


End file.
